The Crystal Rose
by starsailor iphigenia
Summary: Freylin AU. Sequel to The Hidden Hills. After being betrayed by Merlin, Freya leaves Camelot and finds a new home with the druids. There she must learn to manage her new powers and train to fulfill her destiny: helping Arthur Pendragon form Albion by pulling Brittania out of the pocket universe it's trapped in and killing her predecessor, Emrys. (2/3)
1. Chapter 1

**This is the continuation of the story that started in The Hidden Hills. It might not make much sense at first if you haven't read that.**

 **This takes place in an alternate universe where the episode 'The Lady of the Lake' never happened, to give me more space to play with the character of Freya. Bevause really, having to stick with her being a shapeshifter because she was cursed and then being somewhat dead is irritating.**

 **This entire storyline was inspired by me looking up the meaning of the name 'Freya' and seeing that it meant 'lady'. Then I thought ''that's more of a title than a name'' and then ''hey, that's kind of like Emrys'' and then ''what if Emrys had a successor? And Freya was it?''. So that's where this strange little AU came from, and why the character of Freya does not go by the name of Freya at first.**

 **There's a slight crossover with Doctor Who, and for any of you Discworld fans who are reading this, Tiffany Aching makes a brief cameo (along with a certain Nac Mac Feegle) later along. I couldn't resist. :)**

It was cold, it was cold, and the roof was made of bones.

What?

She opened her eyes. Light danced all around her. The air was cold and damp. The lines from _Watership Down_ raced around and around in her head. But she was in a cave, not a warm burrow. Also, she was not a rabbit. She was pretty sure about that, because she could just see hands in her peripheral vision. They were folded neatly on her chest.

She unfolded her fingers slowly. What was that? There was a little piece of rock in her hands. It was carved into a rosebud, simple and perfect. She held it up closer to her eyes, staring in fascination as it twinkled and sparkled in the distant blue light. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Cottia sat up quickly. "Merlin?"

The word echoed into the distance. She looked around. She was completely alone in a world of light.

She was lying on a shelf in a tiny cave. Someone had dressed her in her armor over her regular clothes, and fastened her dagger in its sheath to her belt. They had also folded up her furry jacket and placed it beneath her head as a pillow. She shivered, and picked it up and slipped it on.

Beyond the doorway, there was a forest of stars. Cottia blinked and refocused. It was an enormous cavern, filled with stalagmites and stalactites of clear crystals. They were carved and cut into polished spikes with flat facets and sharp edges. Through the very bottom of the sloping cave, a little stream ran leaping from ledge to ledge, tumbling onwards in a torrent of white foam.

" 'The stream is running, running over the gravel.

'Through the brooklime, the kingcups, the blue and gold of spring.

'Where are you going, stream? Far, far away

'Beyond the heather, sliding away all night.

'Take me with you, stream, away in the starlight.

'I will go with you, I will be rabbit-of-the-stream.

'Down through the water, the green water and the rabbit,' " she murmured. "Except that it's blue water, and flowing through rock and molten starlight. Also, I am not a rabbit. I think. What is this place?"

She took a few stiff steps forward. She felt strange, light and quick and strong. The air around her was humming with power. She glanced at the nearest tower of crystal.

An image rushed up to meet her. The well and the ravine with the strips of blowing cloth got bigger and bigger. The hooded person appeared and held out a hand.

"All right, all right," she muttered, tearing her gaze away. Now every crystal in sight was showing the same sequences of images. "Why do you keep showing me that?" she asked.

The pictures shifted and changed. Now they carried the sense of great age. Cottia recognized Morgana from her portrait in the gallery. She was holding a sword and fighting a man in what looked like a little village. Cottia looked closer. The armor that she was wearing looked strangely like her own.

Then Morgana was sleeping in a bed, and a woman with curling blond hair (the funny kind, with dark stripes in it) was standing at the foot, watching her. The view changed from her back to the woman's face. She had vivid dark eyes. She held up a bracelet identical to the one Cottia wore and her eyes glowed golden. The woman placed the bracelet at the foot of Morgana's bed and left.

Morgana lay cradled in the fair woman's lap. They were both sitting on the floor, shafts of sunlight falling all around them. The fair woman looked up, hatred and fury filling her face. Then she began to chant soundlessly and dark mist swirled around them until they vanished.

Now Morgana stood alone in darkness, a jeweled dagger held in both hands, preparing to stab a man who was sleeping in front of her. Cottia felt that she should know who he was. He had a faint resemblance to Arthur, especially in his nose and chin. Morgana tensed, ready to drive the dagger in, but there was a flash and she was sent flying backwards. The man awoke and saw her, but instead of reacting with alarm, his face showed concern and he pulled her into a hug. She smiled, but when he could not see her face, it went wooden.

The fair woman lay on a block of stone, unmoving, and now one side of her face was horribly scarred. Morgana stroked her cheek and wiped off a ceremonial dagger. Then she turned and strode away into blackness.

Morgana was sitting on the throne in the great hall of Camelot, an elaborate crown on her head. Cottia frowned. Before, she had looked angry and restless, but now there was a manic franticness and fear in her eyes.

The pictures blurred and sped up. All were of Morgana; walking, chained to the wall of a pit, riding horseback with a captive that Cottia barely had time to recognize as Guinevere, holding a baby in her arms, standing in front of an army, looking up at cliffs in the dark as men fought around her.

Abruptly the images halted. Morgana was standing still, looking down at something or someone with mad, obsessive fury in her eyes. Cottia shivered. The girl had clearly passed the bounds of sanity and was a long way on the other side. She gloated, but suddenly spun around. Someone was standing behind her, a shadow holding a sword. She glared at the person, but they stepped forward and thrust the sword into her heart. Her expression changed from fear to hurt to gratitude, and she was let gently down to the ground.

Cottia looked away and blinked hard as the pictures ceased and once more the crystals were just crystal. What had that been for? How could she get out of here? How had she gotten in here? Where was here?

"This must be the Crystal Cave," she said out loud. "But why -" Memory began to return. Sitting in the sun on the walls. The silence. Guinevere, asleep at her desk. Everyone else, asleep where they had fallen. Merlin and Arthur, running into the room. Merlin's eyes as he -

"No," she said. "He wouldn't!"

But she remembered the ruthlessness, and what he had said about not letting anyone get in his way, and she knew that he had done his best to kill her.

And after that, apparently he had brought her here and buried her, and put a crystal flower in her hands. Cottia turned it over and over in her fingers. For a moment, it flashed, showing her the picture of the hooded man waiting in the trees.

Well, she couldn't go back to Camelot. Merlin had turned against her. That hurt, quite a lot more than she let herself acknowledge. If she was supposed to be dead and had somehow survived, it was sheer idiocy to go back. Meeting the person in the druid camp was important, was it? Then she'd go there.

But how on earth could she get out? She took a few cautious steps forward. Even though she felt as if she could float, in reality her legs were as unsteady as a newborn kitten's and her vision was blurry and made everything look a little further away than it really was. This cave seemed endless.

Well, the floor was sloped. The water was running down. Maybe it came down from outside. On the other hand, it could go down to come out. Cottia glared around at the sparkling rocks. It was pitch black in the cave apart from the light of the crystals, and that light was wavering and uncertain. There! There was the entrance. It was obvious, really. How had she missed it?

Oh. That was strange. A few seconds ago and a few steps further away, she could have sworn that there was an archway leading to a long straight tunnel upwards, daylight pouring in through the end. Now she could see that it was just a hollow in the side of the cave, filled with rubble. But at the same time, it was an archway leading out. She squinted hard. It made her eyes water and her mind ache with effort, but she could see both things at the same time. How strange.

It's because both things are there, she thought. That's perfectly obvious. There is a lot of power in there. Enough to twist time and move space.

"What?" she said out loud. Sometimes those sardonic, biting little thoughts that bubbled up from somewhere deep in the part of her mind she kept shut were useful, though it wasn't very often. She screwed her eyes shut, feeling the relief as she no longer had to look at the weird distorted dance that space was doing on the other side of the arch/hollow.

With her eyes closed, she could smell fresh air now. It was coming in on the breeze generated by the rushing water, drifting with glacial slowness down from above.

Cottia tucked the little flower carefully into her jacket pocket and began to follow the slope of the cavern upwards. If she kept her eyes shut and concentrated, she could smell Merlin. His scent of herbs and cedar soap and wood smoke was unmistakable. It hung in the nearly stagnant air as a faint blue-green line. Her sense of smell, always keen, had suddenly become phenomenally good.

She followed her nose through a winding series of caverns and tunnels, all covered in the same crystals. At one point, the path went through a perfectly spherical cave. The power there made her head spin. The images of the druid camp and of Morgana flashed out at her on all sides. She felt sick.

At last there was real sunlight ahead, pouring in through a narrow crack. Cottia squeezed out of the cave and looked around. The scent of Merlin was nearly gone now. It was several days old. There was another scent hanging around the rocks outside the cave entrance, one of armor polish and leather and horse and . . . lavender? Probably Arthur, she thought. I bet he picks up the lavender smell from Gwen. All her clothes are stored with it.

Cottia wandered down to a little stream and looked at the plants growing on the banks. They had dark green, three-lobed, serrated leaves, and five-petaled white flowers with yellow stamens. Strawberries? There were certainly a lot of them.

A club caught her a glancing blow on the head and she fell sprawling, landing full length in the stream. Another blow splashed into the water as she rolled instinctively out of the way. Seven bandits had ambushed her. She flailed in the shallow water and crawled up the other bank of the stream. One of the men had a crossbow.

"Got any money, boy?" one of them said. "Hand it over."

"I have nothing," she said.

The bandit snorted. "No one comes here without something. Come on. Be reasonable."

"Orrr what?" She couldn't stop her voice from slurring into a growl as she pronounced the 'r'. She was suddenly hot. Her clothes felt too tight, and her boots bit into her feet. She shrugged off her wet jacket and let it fall to the ground. The bandits' eyes narrowed when they saw her armor.

"Or we won't be."

She unbuckled the belt and let it fall. Her dagger went with it. She tore off the metal corset and dragged the chain mail shirt over her head.

"What are you doing?" The men were sidling towards her as she kicked off her boots. She looked in bewilderment at her clothes on the ground. What was she doing? Why were the clothes suddenly so constraining?

"I don't know," she hissed, and it was a real hiss, from deep down in her throat. The men stopped, staring at her in fascinated horror. "What arrrrre you looking at?" It was starting to be hard to talk. Her face felt stiff.

The crossbow twanged. She ducked, landing on hands and knees. Cottia stared at her hands. There was a faint golden shimmer flowing beneath the skin, and her fingernails were thickening and lengthening and disappearing into her fingers, which were growing shorter and more . . . pawlike. Hmmm. She closed her eyes and felt the world shift, just a little.

When she opened her eyes, everything was a little less colorful, but there was a lot more of it. She could see a much wider range of slightly monochromatic and blurry vision. But that didn't really matter, because ears and nose and whiskers were suddenly working overtime, supplying her with a flood of new data. Whiskers?

She barely had time to think about that before she was in mid-leap, sailing over the stream and landing on the bandit who was aiming his crossbow again. She flexed new muscles and claws slid out of what had been her fingers, and with one swipe at the cowering man, red lines opened up down his back and side where he had rolled over, trying to protect his face.

Her claws had sliced through his armor like it was not there.

Cottia looked up, arching her back and hissing. One of the bandits, braver than the others, lunged at her with a sword. She twisted away and jumped up easily into the air, clinging to the trunk of a tree for a moment before flinging herself off and landing heavily on him. The sword spun out of his grip as she landed on his back. The other bandits were already running, dropping their weapons in their terror.

She stopped herself as she was about to deliver one last swipe, and stepped over the man. "Go," she managed to articulate. There were still vocal cords in there somewhere, but they took some finding. The man sprang to his feet and ran, dragging her first victim with him.

Cottia padded over to the stream and looked down into a still pool. The head of a cat stared back at her. It was a light tan, with a ruff of hair almost like a mane around the head and trailing down over her shoulders. She looked like a cougar or a female lion, or maybe a leopard without spots. A bit smaller than a horse, much larger than a hunting dog. How odd. It hadn't hurt at all to change. And her eyes, although they now had the glass-fronted and intense look of all cat eyes, were still unmistakably her own.

Her clothes were all in a pile on the bank where she had been kneeling when it had happened. She explored them with her whiskers and nose, since her vision now was more adapted to seeing movement than detail. They seemed unharmed, apart from a few torn seams. So if she took off her clothes before . . . this . . . happened, everything worked fine?

How did she turn back into a human? This cat shape was all very well for scaring attackers, but it couldn't carry things without help. She sat down, curling her tail neatly around her paws, and thought. I don't think like a cat, she thought, feeling the air stir her whiskers and enjoying the scents floating tantalizingly past. Even at this distance from the cave entrance, she could smell him. It was achingly familiar. I still think like me.

Maybe it had all been a mistake. Maybe he had been possessed by something. Maybe she was dreaming, had been dreaming since the day the box had come, and she would wake up to him kneeling beside her low bed, shaking her to wake her up from this nightmare, and they would sit together and he would read to her and let her rest her head on his shoulder when he came to the illustrated pages.

But it had to have been him who poisoned her. He had brought her here, to the place he had promised to and never had before it was too late. Why had he done that? Guilt? Was it just the place where people with magic were buried? Had it been something else that made him bring her here?

She blinked and tried to rub her eyes, sheathing her claws again just in time. After a brief moment of hitting herself in the face, she managed to rub one paw over her eyes. Cats didn't cry, did they? Could they? She was, and it was stupid and soppy. What was the use of wanting him back? She'd been an idiot to trust him, and then to . . . what exactly had she done? She hadn't fallen in love with him. That was certain. She knew that he had faults, and could enumerate them in detail. People in love were airheads, and blind to everything bad. But she missed him already, and it had only been half a day since she saw him last.

So I'm not really a cat now, I'm just wearing a cat's body, she thought. Like changing a shirt. I can wear whatever shape I want. Human is my natural shape, but I can take on others when I need to. For some reason, 'large cat' is my default. I wonder why. I wonder what I am. Why couldn't I do this before? I've dreamed about it often enough, literally. Sauron was a shapechanger. He was a different species. Am I not really a human?

She skittered away from those thoughts. They were too disturbing, just like the ones that were mostly curled up in a corner, mute with fear and longing for understanding blue eyes and warm arms and the scent of cedar. She dug her claws angrily into the mud, once again feeling strange muscles in her paws flex as they slid out. That was the past, and it had betrayed her.

"There will never be anyone else," she tried to mutter, although it came out mangled by sharp pointy teeth and a thinner tongue. "No one I depend on. No one I trust like that. Just me. Only me. I am my own support."

Turning back into human was easy, once she found the trick. It was like using magic. Just be certain, and reach out to the switches confidently, and the laws of reality looked ashamed and then obeyed meekly, probably out of embarrassment. She stood up.

Her feet were covered in mud, and so were her hands. There was blood beneath her fingernails. Her hair - now about long enough to reach the bottom of her shoulderblades - was a knotted mess, curled up and standing on end. And she was naked. Well, that was only to be expected. After all, all her clothes were lying in a neat little pile right there in the leaves. What was there to be embarrassed about, really? It was just skin. Everyone had skin. But it was cold now without her nice thick double coat of fur.

Cottia washed her hands and feet in the stream and dried them off on her already wet jacket, wringing as much water out of it as possible. Then she put her clothes back on, including the armor. She didn't want to carry it. As she shook out the jacket before draping it over her arm, she felt something hard in the pocket. Oh yes. It was the crystal rose.

Why had he -? Did it mean, 'sorry', or 'be at peace', or 'I'll miss you'?

It didn't matter. He had betrayed her trust. There could be no going back. Ever.

Cottia turned away from Camelot and trudged towards the wilderness.

 **The poem quoted is from Watership Down.**


	2. Chapter 2

The druid camp was beneath her. The wind stirred the trees and made the strips of cloth flutter, throwing dancing thin shadows in the light of the setting sun. It was all very familiar. She'd seen it dozens of times. This time, it was real. Cottia walked slowly down the hillside towards the well.

As she approached, a shadow beside it that she had thought was part of a tree trunk moved and stepped forward. She halted a few feet away. Her heart was suddenly beating very fast. She could see blue eyes in the shadows beneath the hood. But it couldn't be him. Why would he have killed her and then come here to wait for her?

"Hello, Freya." The figure held out a hand as he spoke. It wasn't him, of course. She knew immediately. The voice was nothing like his.

"Who are you?"

The person removed his hood. It was a boy, only a few years older than she was. He had curly black hair and an almost babyish face, rounded with narrow oval eyes and a full mouth, but he was saved from immaturity by serious dark eyebrows and a indefinable air of capability. His eyes weren't blue now that the hood was gone. They had shifted hue to green. "I was sent to meet you. This has been foreseen for many years."

"By whom?"

He shrugged. "Many seers. They all speak of Freya, as once they spoke of Emrys."

"He was a legend!"

"Yes."

She moved a little closer, and put her hand into his. She'd absentmindedly clasped the bracelet around her right arm when she got dressed, and now the boy saw it and his eyes narrowed. "It was my mother's," she said before he could speak.

"I think that is more true than you know." He looked intently at her face. "Yes, I see her in you, but where she kept bitterness and fury, you learned to place resignation and charity."

"What? Who are you talking about? Who are you? I don't even know your name. You don't know mine, either, if it comes to that. Why did you call me Freya?"

"That is your name among my people. I am good at seeing things like that. I was the one who discovered Emrys when his time began. Now I have met you. I am honored." He let go of her hand and bowed slightly.

"Freya is as good a name as any other," Cottia said slowly. Somehow, she didn't want to be called Cottia anymore. She'd thought it would make her happy, because her namesake had found a way to live between her two worlds. But her own attempt at that had blown up in her face.

"It is a good name," the boy agreed. "My name is Mordred. I am a druid."

"I thought so."

"Why?"

"You're in an old druid camp. Mer- someone told me once that people without magic didn't like these places."

"No, they do not." He unexpectedly smiled at her.

"How old are you?" she said abruptly. He did not seem surprised.

"I am twenty."

"I'm seventeen. I'm dead, too, if it matters."

"So was I, once." A shadow passed over his face. "I had a destiny, just like you."

"I don't have one. But it's nice to meet someone else who's been dead."

"You have a great destiny, one that you share with Emrys. Your path and his are bound together."

"So? I don't even know him."

Mordred shrugged. "That's just what Wulfric told me to tell you."

"Who's he?"

"Our leader, in the absence of one more powerful. He is one of the last of a order of druids known as the Catha, and knows many secrets. He is wise. That is why he leads us, as the head of our triumvirate. He begs you to come to us. We will teach you many things and give you all the help we can."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"Druids are peaceful people. We want freedom, but we will not go to war for it. You will lead us to freedom by a different path."

"I don't understand! I was just a servant!" she said in confusion. Mordred smiled again, a faraway look in his eyes.

"Were you? How strange . . . but it does seem that history repeats itself. Will you come with me?"

No 'Trust me', no 'I will not harm you'. Just an invitation.

"Yes," she said. "Why not?"

0000

Mordred had brought two horses with him. They were much finer-boned than any of the horses Cottia had seen before, even Goldberry. These horses had long legs and wide, dished foreheads. Their mouths were much more sensitive, and their coat was thicker and finer.

"Why are these horses so different from the ones in Camelot?" she asked as they rode.

"They're specially bred for those of us who go out as spies. We need horses that are intelligent and trained to obey special commands, and who won't abandon us if we are incapacitated." He paused. "There are only nineteen of us. We are called the Guardians, because we guard the borders, and we all bear a special token as proof of our status." He pulled at a chain around his neck and showed her a little charm dangling from it. It was a three-lobed spiral.

"I've seen that before."

"It used to be the common symbol for a druid. Now only we use it."

She nodded. "What things do you train your horses to do?"

"Many things. They will not carry people we do not trust. They kneel and lie down at our command. They stay calm in battle. They can track us for miles if we are separated from them." He stroked his horse's neck affectionately. "They are special."

"What's his name?"

"Stian."

"Where are we going?"

"To Ealdor."

"Where is that?"

Mordred looked a little surprised. "It lies about ten miles over the border of Camelot. It used to be in Cenred's kingdom, but he died and the land was fought over by his successors. He had no heir. They fought so much that we druids quietly took a large piece of the more inhospitable mountain territory for our own. It's ours now; they don't want to try and fight us again. Ealdor is the only village of any size, and in the most comfortable location."

"How big is it?"

"Six hundred people, more or less. It depends on the seasons and on how much danger we are in from raiders. There is no castle there, but we have built a strong wall and a moat around most of the houses. There are caves in the mountain nearby, and that is where Wulfric and a few others live. We all go there when we are in danger. It is the stronghold of the druids in this age."

"And everyone who lives there has magic?"

"Not everyone. Some are the original villagers, who lived under Cenred's rule and keep on living there because they always have. They like us because we protect them, and they accept us as people, not monsters. My mother is one of them."

"How do you have magic, then, if she doesn't?"

"She's not my birth mother. She took me in after I came back to life. You'll see when you meet her. She's very nice, and she understands." He noticed her doubtful look. "What?"

"I used to think that I would find a new family."

"And?"

"I was wrong."

Mordred nodded. "That does happen."

0000

It was late at night when they came over the last hill and looked down at the village. A few lights still burned in windows, but mostly, the houses were dark ghosts in the starlight. There was no moon.

"Are there no guards?" Cottia asked as they led their horses along the street. It was mud, not stone, and the horses were soundless. She heard a faint chuckle.

"Oh, yes, there are guards. They just don't want to be seen."

Mordred stopped at a gate in a high hedge. Cottia could just see the roof of a cottage over it. "This is where I live. I told Mum I was sent to find you; she's expecting us."

"What about the horses?"

"They live in Elyan's stable. The smith, just across the street. I'll see to them in a few minutes." Mordred let the reins drop and opened the gate, politely ushering Cottia in first.

She could not see much in the dark, but she had an impression of a courtyard surrounded on two sides by a low cottage and on the other two by a hedge just as high. There were other small buildings in front of the hedge, sheds or something. The air smelled like flowers. Cottia sniffed harder. Her sense of smell had diminished slightly in this form, but it was still good. She could smell some kind of animal. Small, fed on grain, and bedded with hay. Chickens? She didn't know much about farm animals.

Mordred looked back at her as she stood still, turning her head to catch the breeze, and his eyebrows drew together, but he didn't say anything. The door opened, spilling a flood of light out into the courtyard. It provoked a sleepy crow from one corner of the courtyard. Chickens, then.

"Mordred?"

He pulled Cottia up to the door and smiled at the woman holding it open. "I'm back, Mum. And look. I found her."

Cottia sized up the woman quickly and liked what she saw. She had dark hair and a calm, open face that was vaguely familiar. But perhaps that was just a result of how tired she was. She blinked at the woman, who smiled at her.

"You look exhausted. Mordred, put her on the settle."

Mordred piloted Cottia across a wide, warm room with small windows and let her sink down onto a comfortable wooden bench in front of a big fireplace.

"I'm Hunith," said the woman, following them. "What is your name?"

Cottia stared at the fire. She didn't feel like Cottia anymore. Naira had been misunderstood. Fifty-seven had been ignored. Cottia had been betrayed. What could possibly happen next? "Freya is fine," she said. "I don't really have a name anymore."

She didn't remember much else of what happened that night. There was a vague impression of candles and blankets, and someone looking down at her as they helped her out of her armor, but that was all.


	3. Chapter 3

Freya woke up in a little room. The walls were white. There was one little square window. It looked out on a street. She sat up. Her bed was narrow. There was a white and red blanket on it. There was a chest in one corner of the room. Her armor was neatly heaped on top of it.

The woman looked up from the fireplace as Freya came cautiously out into the room. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

Freya nodded and looked around. The cottage was shaped like a L that was the same length on both ends. There was a door at each end of the L. Presumably, they were the bedrooms. The rest of the house was all one room.

"Mordred says that he is to take you to meet Wulfric as soon as you are ready," said the woman - what was her name again? Hunith, that was right.

"Where is he?"

"In his house. Out in the garden." Hunith pointed out the open door. Now Freya could see a tiny cottage at the other end of the courtyard.

"He lives out there?"

"It's more convenient. He comes and goes a lot, and he likes to have a private space."

Freya wandered out to explore after breakfast. There were beehives, and chickens everywhere, pecking and scratching in the grass and plants. They came running when she stepped out, and followed her across the courtyard, clucking and whining softly.

The big cottage was oriented so that the end with the room she had slept in was the only end that touched the street. The hedge closed in the rest of the space. There were bushes and vines and trees and big pots with plants everywhere. She was pretty sure that most of them were for food. She saw none that she recognized.

Mordred's tiny cottage was only slightly bigger than the room she had slept in. It had a trapdoor in the ceiling. Presumably his bed was up there, because on the ground floor there was just a stove, a table, a long bench, and a big bookshelf. He was sitting at the table when she poked her head in through the open door.

"Hunith says you want me?"

"Oh. Yes. Wulfric wants to meet you. He's very excited."

"Why?"

"We've been waiting for you. It's a new age. We need a new guardian." Mordred waved his hands. "He'll explain it better than I can. Do you want to go now?"

"I suppose," she said distractedly. Her attention had been caught by a book on the table. She gently slid it out from under the bigger book it had been propping up, and caught her breath in excitement.

The cover was tattered and heavily worn, but the picture of the enormous head of a sheep could still be seen. Little blue men were walking over it. Above this slightly puzzling picture was the title, faded but still legible: The Wee Free Men.

"I read this years ago!"

Mordred noticed the excitement in her voice and craned to see which book she was holding. "That one? Really? I thought stories were banned on the Other Side."

"They are. But my mother owned this one. She used to read it to me. Tiffany Aching, that's right. And she had magic, and a big heavy iron frying pan."

"It's a good book. Magic here doesn't work quite like the magic there, but the principles are the same." He looked at the way her fingers were caressing the pages. "Do you want to borrow it for a while?"

"Can I? I'll give it back."

"Of course."

Mordred handed her a dark cloak like the one he'd been wearing the day before. "Here. Put this on."

"Why?"

"It's cold in the caves."

Freya wrapped the cloak around herself. It was long and had a nice deep hood. She hadn't had time yet to clumsily repair the tears in her shirt and trousers, so she was rather glad that the cloak covered them.

Mordred gave her another intent glance as she poked a finger through one of the holes at the side seam of her shirt. It had burst.

"I've only seen holes like that made one way," he said, catching her staring back at him.

"Huh?"

"Never mind. It's none of my business. Wulfric will talk to you about it, anyway."

He led the way out the gate in the hedge and into the dusty street. A smith was at work across the way, doing something with a hammer and bits of metal. Mordred raised a hand.

"Morning, Elyan."

"Morning, Mordred." The smith, a tall man with skin the color of earth after spring rain and an expression that reminded Freya of someone, especially around the eyes, laid down his tools and gazed curiously at her. Mordred smiled tightly.

"This is Freya."

The smith's eyes widened and he made her a little bow. They walked on. Freya could feel his curious stare following them up the road.

0000

The caves were a short walk from the village, up a thickly forested slope. The entrance was a wide round tunnel with flares burning in it, quite unlike the narrow entrance to the only other cave she had ever been in.

Mordred picked up a torch and lit it at one of the flares. Freya jumped back as he walked forward and the light revealed two guards standing perfectly still on either side of the way in. They both gave her very slight smiles.

She followed Mordred along narrow tunnels. There were torches in brackets at the junctions, but apart from that, there was no other light. Sometimes, the side tunnels were shut by big wood and metal doors.

"What are the doors for?" she asked.

"They're rooms, or short tunnels to sets of rooms."

"People live in here?"

"Some of us do. And these caves are our stronghold. If the village is ever attacked and overrun, everyone there can retreat into here. We make sure that there is space."

Although the tunnels were dark and rough, they did not feel frightening. There were grooves worn into the floor by many feet, and soot on the walls from hundreds of torches. It felt like a home rather than a showpiece.

They came to a door in the side of the tunnel. Mordred stopped and knocked. It swung open.

There was a little room beyond, lit by candles and a fire. High up near the top of the roof, a beam of sunlight shone through a crack and lit up the opposite wall near the door. There wasn't much furniture in the room; just a few chairs, a lot of books, and a screen across one corner.

The two occupants of the room were a wiry old man who looked like he was someone's grandfather and a big hunting dog. It was blond. It had a curious ruff of longer hair around its neck and shoulders. It looked up at Freya with intelligent blue eyes.

The man smiled at them. "This is Wulfric," said Mordred.

"And you are Freya," he said.

"I suppose," she answered cautiously.

"This is Avelina," he said, indicating the dog. Was it a dog? It looked more capable, somehow, and less anxious to please. And there was something funny about the way it smelled.

"I don't understand," Freya said.

"What don't you understand?"

"Everything. Why are you looking for me? What can I do?"

The wolf got up - because now she was sure that it was a wolf - and sidled towards the door. As it came closer, Freya felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up and something deep inside her began to glow in recognition.

"If you don't mind, I think that Avelina and Mordred should stay," said Wulfric. "They may be useful."

"I don't mind," she said hurriedly, still staring at the wolf.

"Avelina, if you want to get Changed, I think there are some spare clothes to fit you in the chest. Mordred, get her some."

The blond wolf trotted behind the screen. Mordred dug around in a chest Freya had not noticed and tossed a ball of clothes over the screen. There was a faint tingling noise and a shift in the texture of the air, and a girl with tangled long blond hair came out from behind the screen, tugging at the fastenings of a dress. She stopped and bowed to Freya.

"Sorry about that."

"She is one of our few shapeshifters," said Wulfric. "Mordred is also. And I suspect we have another."

Freya blinked and sat down on one of the chairs. "How did you know?"

"It's all in the smell," said Avelina. "We always know each other. How long have you been able to Change?"

"Two days?" she hazarded. "I don't know. I didn't know I could until yesterday." The story of how she had been ambushed came pouring out.

"A cat? That's interesting," said Wulfric thoughtfully. "We don't have any natural cats. Avelina and Andrei are both wolves. Mordred here favors bear form."

"Can lots of people shapeshift?"

"Oh, goodness, no. Can you imagine the chaos? It's just me and my brother and Mordred," said Avelina.

"And now you too," said Wulfric kindly. "You are most welcome. Shapeshifters are valued here."

"Why?"

"For our enhanced senses and our strength," said Mordred.

"And we all have very strong instinctive skill with magic," Avelina added.

Freya stared at the wall. There were drawings on it, done in chalk; notes and sketches. "I think you'd better start from the beginning."

0000

After the crisis that had come with Morgana's last attempt to seize control of Camelot, all the wandering tribes of druids had come together and agreed to unite to prevent their people falling through the cracks again. They had quietly taken over this rugged section of a leaderless kingdom and settled down to prove that they could be peaceful.

Unfortunately, before anyone else was aware of them, the land had begun to fall asleep. The druids had all held a great council. Some of the tribes had gone through the doors that were appearing and had lived for the last few thousand years on the Other Side. Some had remained and slept. They had known they would awaken.

"But where do I fit in to all this?" Freya asked.

"The timeline of the world is divided up into ages. They cover stretches of time where several important events are interconnected. At the beginning of each age, someone who is an exceptionally powerful sorcerer is born. They guide the events and the people at their heart during their age." Freya still looked puzzled, so Wulfric illustrated. "Two ages ago, the guardian was another woman named Nimueh."

"I've heard of her!"

Wulfric looked surprised. "Not many people have now. She came to power just as Uther was crowned King of Camelot, and for many years they worked well together. But he did not have an heir. He was desperate. He ordered Nimueh to help him. She obeyed, but he did not realize how strong the forces were that he had ordered her to control. His wife died in childbirth and he began the Great Purge as retaliation for what he saw as Nimueh's treachery. Her age began with Uther's coronation. It ended with the coming of age of his son."

"Why did it end there?"

"Because that began another chain of events, leading up to this land being cut off from all other lands and sleeping for thousands of years. That age was looked after by another sorcerer. His time of absolute guardianship is ending now. It is time for you to take his place."

"But what does he think about it? Can I meet him?"

"He isn't here. He lives in Camelot."

"Emrys? I read a book," she added.

"Yes, that is his name."

"What happened to Nimueh? I mean, if she was mad at Uther. Didn't she try to kill him?"

"She did. Emrys stopped her. That is the task of the new guardian. They must either completely replace the old guardian or join with them. Most have chosen to replace their predecessors. Ideologies and customs change over the centuries. What worked in the past does not always work in the present."

"You mean he killed Nimueh," she said flatly. "And now I have to find Emrys and kill him so I can take his place."

Wulfric looked slightly embarrassed. "In essence, yes. You do have the option to persuade him to help you. If he will listen, there is much you could learn from him."

"Why wouldn't he want to help me?"

"You will have new ideas. He may not agree with them. They would not have worked during his age. He will oppose you, and eventually you will be drawn into a fight." He saw her expression. "I'm sorry. It has always happened."

"There was one time where the guardians joined together," said Avelina.

"We do not know if that is history or myth," Wulfuc chided. "Best not to trust in stories."

"But just killing someone in cold blood to take their place is awful!" Freya protested.

"It won't be in cold blood when you face him. You will know him and the way he works, and he will know you."

"What if he kills me?"

"You are young and he is old. There can only be one outcome. He will have experience but you will have raw power. And you are assuming something."

"What?"

"He may want to die. Being a guardian is a heavy responsibility. You will have to watch friends and family die and know that you could have saved them if it were not for your overriding need to safeguard your destiny."

I wish Merlin was here, Freya thought. He understood this kind of stuff. But she was silent.

"A guardian can only be killed by his or her replacement," Mordred said. "You cannot die unless it is at their hand."

"Oh," said Freya blankly. "Is that why I woke up again after - after someone poisoned me?"

"Yes, that's why. And that's another proof that you are the person we are looking for. It is a new age. Arthur has returned and is facing a new enemy from a world we do not understand. This guardian must be someone who knows that land with their head but has this land in their heart," said Wulfric.

"I've never been here before. How can I know this land that well?"

Avelina leaned forward and touched Freya's arm. "You are wearing the proof," she said. Freya looked down at her bracelet. It had been embarrassing to wear in the castle, but out here, it seemed to fit. She looked questioningly at Wulfric, who sighed.

"I have seen that bracelet before, in the hands of my master Alator. He was given it in payment for a service that the last High Priestess hired him to do. He gave it back." He paused. "We do not have either priestesses or priests any more. They became corrupt, worshiping magic instead of striving to tame it and understand it. But she was powerful, and from a family of kings."

Mordred had gotten up and was rummaging in the bookshelves. He held out an open volume. The crest on the bracelet was traced on the page.

"The House of Gorlois? I've heard that name before somewhere . . ." Freya frowned.

"He was her adoptive father. Her true father took her in as his ward when she was a child. Her half-sister gave her this bracelet when they first met as adults. It is a healing bracelet, designed primarily to stop dreams of future events bleeding into the bearer's mind," said Wulfric. All three of them were watching her now. "Did no one in Camelot recognize the crest?"

"I don't know," Freya said doubtfully.

"You do not know your family?"

"No. No one ever wanted to talk about it."

Wulfric nodded gently and handed her a thick book. "It is all written in there. The tribe your mother married into kept very good records."

"No," said Freya flatly.

"Sorry?"

"There is no way my father came from here."

Wulfric's brow cleared. "I see the misunderstanding. I am speaking of your ancestor who was the High Priestess. Go on, look in the book. I brought it up specially from the vaults to check."

Freya opened the book and turned to the last page. Her mother's name and her aunt were both there, and so was her own. The genealogy seemed to be through their mother as well. She turned the pages further back, recognizing some names. "But they didn't know about this world. How did they keep track?"

"Some druids settled down on the Other Side and gradually forgot their heritage. The remaining ones made it their duty to keep track of them. Especially your family," he added.

"Why?"

"We were interested to see what would happen if someone like you was born," said Wulfric frankly. "Also, we had another interest which will become obvious when you reach the first page."

Freya abandoned her halfhearted flipping through the names and turned to the front page. She stared. So that was why they had all gone cold after seeing her bracelet. Anger rose up inside her. It wasn't fair. They couldn't have had any real proof. Just a suspicion. He'd killed her for that! How dare he? It wasn't fair!

"Do you understand now?" Wulfric asked now.

Freya bit her lip. "Yes." She glared down at her bracelet.

"You are not like her in heart," Mordred said softly. "I knew her. You are not like her. Keep it."

"Was Morgana a shapechanger too?" she asked for lack of anything else coherent to say.

"No. We don't know quite where that came from," Wulfric admitted. "But her son married a druid, and his daughter married one, and her daughter married one. They stayed pure for quite a long time compared to other druid families. It could have come in anywhere along the way."

Mordred was watching her face. "You still don't understand."

"What?"

"You're a Pendragon. If Arthur dies, you'll be Queen."

"What?" This time it was a gasp. Maybe it had all been Arthur's idea. Maybe he had ordered Merlin to kill her.

"Well, yes," said Wulfric. "I don't know if there are any laws about this kind of situation." He brightened up. "But you cannot deny now that this land is in your bones."

"Hang on, what? How does being related to Morgana make me a Pendragon?"

"Morgana was Uther's daughter," Mordred said quietly. "We thought you knew."

"So Arthur's my uncle?"

"Broadly speaking. There are about fifteen generations between you and him," said Wulfric.

I have a family, Freya thought. And they are all afraid of me. Again.

"So what do I do now?"

"We will teach you our ways. You have natural talent. Now you need practice." Wulfric looked at her, sizing her up. "Do you have any experience with fighting?"

"A bit. I have a dagger."

"What about camping out?"

She nodded.

"Good!" he said briskly. "Why don't you join the Guardians? Did Mordred tell you about them?"

"All of us shapeshifters are in it," said Avelina. "Do join us. It will be nice to have another girl."

"What do you do?"

"All the different tribes each guard a section of our borders. If they are in danger of being invaded, or they hear rumors of something that will affect us, you go and investigate," Wulfric explained.

"Like a cross between elite knights and spies," said Mordred.

"How many of you are there?" Freya demanded.

"Nineteen. Three of us are shapeshifters. We usually get the odd assignments. Where other people fail, we find out the truth."

"Is this what I'm supposed to do as part of this destiny thing?"

All three of them shrugged. "Only you will know when and what you must do," said Wulfric.

"But I don't even understand what my destiny is!"

"Oh, we know what that is. You must continue Emrys' work. Help Arthur create the great kingdom of Albion. Bring about peace between people with magic and people without. Keep us from being overrun by the Other Side."

"And that's all, is it?" she said sarcastically. "Do you want me to discover whether light travels in waves or particles while I'm at it?"

"You have the strength and the skills and the right. Do not doubt yourself."

Freya stared at the chalk scribblings for a while. "All right. I'll join the Guardians." That way, I can learn more about how magic works, and I'll know what's going on in Camelot.

Wulfric held out a silver necklace. It was the same design as Mordred's: a three-lobed spiral. "This is your badge. Your authority, if you like. Everyone who is a citizen of this kingdom knows and respects this mark. They will help you without question if you have this."

"I wear mine on a collar," said Avelina. She pulled down the high neck of her dress to reveal a narrow leather band around her throat. A silver spiral dangled from it. "I can keep the collar on when I Change."

"Why do you pronounce it with a capital C?" Freya asked, slipping the chain around her neck.

"It feels like it should be."

"Where should I live while I'm here?"

"She's staying with Hunith now," said Mordred in response to a questioning look from Wulfric. He drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the genealogy book.

"If she doesn't mind, I can think of a lot worse places to stay than there," he said finally. "Did you explain things to her, Mordred?"

"I told her who I was going to find."

"Well, and if she does, we'll find you a nice place," he said comfortably. "Now, I imagine you want to get back out into the sunlight.

 **If you've read the Night Watch story arc from Discworld, you'll recognize the inspiration for Avelina and Andrei. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Freya and Mordred said goodbye to Avelina at the outskirts of the village. Freya watched the blond girl run off towards a street of cottages. "So there are only three other people who can turn into animals?"

"It's said that Emrys is a shapeshifter," Mordred answered. He gave this some thought. "That could be true. He was certainly very good at disguise. I would say that he is more talented at the looking stupid and harmless kind of disguise than the turning into something else kind of disguise. There are rumors of a family of shapeshifters who favor wolf form that lives in Camelot. I don't suppose you know about them?"

Freya shook her head. "I've never heard that."

Mordred looked disappointed. "That's a pity."

"Wait. You knew Emrys? You talk like you've met him."

"Yes, I knew him. He never trusted me. Now I know that he had reason not to, but at the time it seemed very unfair. It was especially hard when I was a child. I didn't know what was at stake. People I looked up to told me that certain people were bad, and I believed them. He thought I was being deliberately malicious."

"What did he think you were trying to do?"

"He knew of a prophecy that said I would grow up to kill Arthur."

"Oh."

"He was right." This was said so calmly that for a second she did not register what he had said.

"You did what?"

"I stabbed him and started this entire mess with the doors and the sleeping."

"So Emrys knew what you would do and tried to kill you before you could do it?"

"Yes. But I do not think that I would have been in a position to kill Arthur if he had not tried so hard to stop me. You must remember that, Freya. Trying to change something that has not yet happened may create the very thing you are trying to change."

She nodded. "Were you always enemies?"

"I wanted to be friends. He didn't."

"I know how that feels."

They were at the hedge gate. Mordred stopped. "Forgive me. I must go now. I will return later this afternoon."

"All right."

"You can take the book from my cottage."

"Thanks!" Freya waved as Mordred hurried away. She also waved at the smith, who was watching them with interest, on the principle that if it was her job to take care of this land, then she could use all the friends she could get. He waved back.

Hunith was sitting under the wide eaves of the cottage. She was knitting. Freya got the book and came hesitantly over to her. She was a fast knitter. She looked up and saw Freya's slightly dazed expression.

"Is everything all right?"

"What is that?"

"It's going to be a sock. Why don't you sit?" She patted another chair beside her. Freya sat automatically, hugging the book to herself.

"Did Mordred lend you a book?"

"Yes. I used to read it when I was a baby."

Hunith looked doubtfully at it. "How old were you then?"

"Five," Freya said firmly. "My - my mother read it to me. A lot." She felt tears fill her eyes, but they were not for her mother. They were for candlelight and warmth and a familiar voice pronouncing strange and beautiful names like Eowyn and Isengard and Khazad-dum.

Hunith put her hand on Freya's for an instant. "Do you have anyone now? Any family?"

If she had sounded sorry for her, Freya's claws would have come out. But Hunith merely sounded interested. "Not anymore. My mother died six years ago. My father never liked me. He has disowned me. I had no siblings."

Hunith nodded gently. "I understand. I have no one now, either. It is lonely."

"It is, isn't it?"

"That's one reason why I took Mordred in. He reminds me very much of my son sometimes."

"Son?"

Hunith sighed. "He died in the great battle of Camlann, with so many others. I suppose he was happy. He fell defending his king. Arthur, not Cenred. He really believed in Arthur."

Freya's forehead wrinkled. "I thought this place was outside Arthur's kingdom."

"He moved out when he was about your age. He had magic. The people here feared him. So I sent him to Camelot. He liked it very much there."

"Do you have magic?"

"No." Hunith laughed softly. "He inherited that from his father. He died too, before he even knew he would have a son."

"Oh." Freya paused awkwardly. "Sorry. I'm not very good at sympathy."

"Better to feel it and be unable to express it than to express it and be unable to feel it. I can see it in your eyes," she added as Freya looked surprised.

"I just found out an hour ago that my great-great - that my lots-of-greats-grandmother was a vengeful homicidal maniac of immense power," she said dreamily. "It feels a bit weird."

"Oh?" said Hunith calmly. "Who was she?"

"Morgana Pendragon?"

"Yes. I see her in your face," she said, with an air of relief at having solved a puzzle. "You have her cheekbones, and her eyes."

"You knew her?"

"She came here once to help, with the Prince. We were being attacked by bandits. I went to Camelot to seek aid. The King would not help, but the Prince and Lady Morgana came back here with my son and helped us drive them away. She was a very skilled swordswoman, and a kind person."

"She killed hundreds of people!"

"I think something happened to her before she was able to do that. Something bad. The woman I met would never have harmed an innocent person."

Freya frowned. "You don't hate me because of her?"

"Should I?"

"No, but - Are you afraid of me?"

"Because you have magic? Goodness, no. I thought I recognized the armor," she added peacefully as a chicken wandered up to look at the ball of yarn that had just fallen from her lap. Freya bent and picked it up, scaring the hen away in the process.

"What?"

"It used to be Morgana's. She had it when she came here to fight - Did I say something wrong?"

"No," Freya muttered. He couldn't have known then, surely. Why couldn't she get him out of her head? It was over.

"Would you like to stay with me and Mordred for a while?" Hunith asked after a long pause.

"I think so. I have nowhere else to go."

"Good. I like you. And the door has a nice easy catch to open with a paw." She caught Freya's startled glance. "I know how you tore your clothes. Mordred does the same occasionally. What is your shape? He turns into a big black bear for preference."

"I'm a sort of cougar."

"That'll be easier than a wolf, then. You can retract your claws. They won't shred your clothes. Poor Avelina has an awful time with that sometimes."

"So you wouldn't mind if I was sitting here as a big golden cat?"

"As long as you don't hunt the chickens," Hunith replied peacefully.

Her easy acceptance of anything and everything was heaven to Freya. "I think I like it here," she said.

And she did like it there, she discovered. Hunith had only a few basic house rules. Be considerate. Be thoughtful. Help with the washing up and the chickens. No unnecessary magic inside or outside the house, especially the showy kind involving fireballs and/or localized thunderstorms. And no boys in Freya's room when the door was closed.

Freya was a bit puzzled about the last one. Why would a boy be in her room in the first place? And anyway, she didn't know any boys. Did Mordred count? Or Andrei? But they were just people.

0000

She was thrown together with Avelina quite often during her initiation into the Guardians, since they were both shapeshifters. Freya liked her. She was calm and dignified and controlled. She was a good teacher. She and her brother took Freya out into the forest, showing her how to track animals and navigate by the sun. Andrei was the oldest of the shapeshifters. He was twenty-five, and looked nothing like his sister. He had the same temperament, though, and could be almost inhumanly aloof at times.

There were technically twenty-one Guardians now that Freya had joined. Only people with magic were allowed to be official members, but there was one man who did not. His name was Gwaine. Avelina introduced Freya to him one day as they were practicing with their daggers in the fields outside the village. Daggers and bows were the preferred weapons of the Guardians.

He was tall and had longer hair than Freya had seen so far on a man. It was only a few inches shorter than her own. He did not have one of the spiral necklaces. His was a crescent moon. He came wandering up to them and smiled.

"Afternoon, Avelina. And who are you?"

Freya stared back at him mutely. He was grinning at her. She was confused.

"Knock it off, Gwaine," said Avelina. She glanced at Freya and added, "I think it's a lost cause."

"What is?" Freya asked.

"He's going to try to flirt with you. It's not personal. I don't think he can help it."

"You still haven't told me your name," said Gwaine, persevering.

"You didn't ask me what it was."

"I have now."

"It's Freya."

He bowed. "And I am Gwaine." He waited for a response. Freya was silent. There was nothing to say, so she said nothing. Avelina was watching with interest. "So you are our latest comrade?"

"Yes. Why don't you have the right necklace?"

"He doesn't have magic. You have to have magic to be a proper guardian," Avelina explained.

"I am their secret weapon," Gwaine proclaimed. "When all else fails, they rely on me."

"Yes, we send you into the nearest tavern to sweet-talk all the locals until they tell you something we need to know."

"See? I'm indispensable. You lot couldn't fit in in a happy crowd if your lives depended on it." Gwaine turned back to Freya. She was giving him a stare that was alarming him slightly. It was as if she could read his soul. "Has Avelina shown you her tricks yet?"

"Do you mean, do I know she is a shapeshifter?"

"Uh. Yes." Trying to make small talk with this girl is like rolling boulders up a hill, he thought.

"Sorry, I can't chatter very well," she said. "It's obvious, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

Freya held out a hand. It looked normal until the second glance, which showed that the fingernails had contracted and lengthened into claws, and a sprinkling of fair fur was covering the back of her hand. "So am I." She stared challengingly at him.

"Well," he managed. Avelina looked at Freya in admiration as he hurried off.

"That was amazing!"

"Was it?" Freya was biting her lip again.

"Usually it's twenty minutes of you-look-like-a-princess-how-about-a-walk-I-know-beautiful-girls-love-walks. I think you deserve some kind of award."

"Why is he frightened of me? Is it because I am different?"

Avelina looked genuinely taken aback. "Oh, no. He's just embarrassed."

"Why?"

"I don't think he's ever given anyone his best smile and been stared at like a specimen to be catalogued before. It's thrown him off. Don't worry, he'll try again."

"I don't understand. Should I go and apologize?"

"What is there to be confused about?" Avelina asked helplessly. "Haven't you ever had anyone interested in you before?"

"No, not really. I had a friend once. Sophie. We met in school, and she lives in Camelot now, but I suppose she thinks that I'm dead. And a teacher once told me I could be rich if I applied myself -"

"No, no! Like, you know, a boyfriend?" Avelina looked at her questioningly.

"I am only seventeen," Freya said, shocked.

"So? I'm only three years older than you and I had boys practically throwing themselves at me when I was your age. They always ran away when they saw the fangs, though." Avelina's hand crept up to her mouth and she rubbed the places where her two long sharp fangs grew down when she Changed. "That helped a lot, actually. Most of them I wouldn't have touched if they were the last person in the universe."

"Someone offered to marry me once," Freya said slowly. "Does that count?"

"I should say so, yes. It depends. How old was he?"

"About Andrei's age, I think."

"Hmmm. And why did he want to marry you? Was he nice?"

"I think he is. He's sort of - sweet but not quick. I mean mentally. I don't mean he was stupid! He just isn't a fast thinker. He could probably lift a horse, though."

"Oh, one of those." Avelina gave her a sisterly pat on the back. "You want someone you can talk to, kid. Not someone who is cute. Of course, if you can find it, both is good," she added.

"Really? Thanks." Freya seemed sincere.

"Gwaine is neither, take my word for it."

"All right."

"He'a a nice guy, but too unstable for anyone who can change bodies as easily as clothes. You need someone who loves your mind in that kind of relationship."

"How do you know? I mean, you aren't married."

Avelina looked a little embarrassed. "Well, it isn't official, but I have an understanding with Mordred. Please don't tell anyone."

"I won't."

"Thanks."

"What did you mean, cute?"

"Oh, you know. Someone who is attractive."

"You mean, how they think?"

"No, no, no. Good grief. How they look!"

"Oh! But isn't that a rather shallow and passing thing compared to how a person acts and thinks? People get far too wound up in physical attraction."

At this point, Avelina gave her a funny look and said, "Well, I suppose you're safe from Gwaine."

Freya lay awake and pondered that conversation for a long time that night. Why would anyone want to marry her? She knew that she was far too young to even be thinking about that kind of thing. And how did people get so wrapped up in how other people looked that they could overlook that they were as thick as rocks? Boring rocks, not the kind with crystals inside, she added to herself.

But some people were like the funny round rocks that cracked to reveal gems in their center. They had beautiful insides. Like Sophie, and Jenny. And Avelina was beginning to sparkle a little bit too, now that she was getting to be friends with her.

No. No friends. Don't trust anyone. Freya's hands clenched. Don't get soft again just because Hunith and Mordred are kind now. Yes, they accepted that you are Morgana's daughter, and so far they have not tried to kill you. That could change in a heartbeat. Remember how he was so angry? And before that you had trusted him. You even told him about Cottia! And he pretended to understand and then turned around and betrayed you while your guard was down.

But how can I hate someone like that? Because, before . . . that . . . he was . . . he was . . . Freya found herself thinking about him a lot, and the thoughts always ended in ellipses.

It's easy, said another part of her mind. Keep remembering that fear and helplessness. Remember it and save it up for when you meet him again. You know that you will one day, and then there will be a reckoning.

Tiffany had said that. She'd shouted it to the sky when her sheep were stolen. She was brave enough to stand up for her land, her family, her sanity. Freya's hands unclenched. And Tiffany had been only nine years old. I'm seventeen. I can do this. I can stand up for myself and everyone like me, the misunderstood and the feared. I can be this land's kelda. Someone has to do the thinking for them. If it's my destiny to take over from this Emrys and forge a new kingdom where magic and normality work together, then I will make it happen.

"I have a duty," she whispered to the darkness. "Me. On my own."


	5. Chapter 5

As a whole, druids were not morning people. Years of oppression had meant that the ones who survived were the ones who naturally functioned well in the dark, since in the dark, you had a better chance of hiding. Wulfric was teaching Freya about her history and about how to control her powers. She went up to the caves every other afternoon. On the days she did not go, she was with Avelina and the other Guardians, learning their craft.

But the mornings were her own time. This morning, it was sunny. Hunith had gone out. Freya sat under the eaves, enjoying the warmth of the sun. Mordred's big white cat lay stretched out beside her. It had adopted him when he first came to Ealdor. It was named You.

A shadow came between her and the sun. Freya opened her eyes. Mordred was settling down on the rug beside her. He held out a book.

"I saw you were nearly finished with that one, so here's the next," he said. She took it. It had a picture of a girl with a big black pointy hat on it. The title was _A Hat Full Of Sky_.

"How many are there?"

"I have four. I think there are more, but I have not been able to find them."

Freya nodded. You purred.

"I wish someone would steal my baby brother," she said.

"Do you have one?"

"No. I meant - I don't know what to do!" she said. "So I'm supposed to be looking after everyone, like a kelda. Well, I know that things are wrong, and people are being treated unfairly, but nothing is out in the open. No one is actively hunting down druids now. No one is being openly oppressed. Everything is, well, it's all working! So what do I do? What am I for?"

Mordred listened, rubbing You behind the ears.

"And then what can I do when something does happen that I need to stop? Wulfric says that everyone here will obey me, but how will they know I'm doing the right thing? How do I know I'm doing the right thing? What about people with magic who live in the other kingdoms? They won't know me. And then what about Arthur? At least Granny Aching had the respect of the Baron. He knew her and looked up to her. He knew he could trust her judgement. I was one of Arthur's servants! He'd never do what I say just because I'm the one saying it."

"There must have been a time when the Baron did not know Granny Aching," Mordred said gently. "How do you think she made herself known then?"

"She probably -" Freya's voice changed. Now she sounded thoughtful. "She probably waited until she had a really good reason for interfering, and then she went to him and solved his problem. And then she showed him how smart she was and how good it would be for everyone if the two of them would just work together."

"I think so too."

"I wish I had a Granny Aching. No one ever just sat and listened to me." But that's not true, a little part of her mind scolded. Merlin listened. He believed in you. He showed you things, and it didn't matter to him if you didn't understand them. You did have someone.

"Hmmm?" said Mordred. He was looking at her curiously, his head a little on one side.

"What?"

"You look sad."

"Why should I be?"

He shrugged and stared off into the distance. "Because now you realize that everyone you have ever known has exploited you in some way and you are trapped in a destiny you did not choose? It hurts. I know."

"Apart from that."

He looked down. "I don't know. It just seems to me that sometimes when you think that no one is watching, I think that you think of someone that you did not expect to lose, and the memories sting."

"Doesn't everyone miss someone?"

"I suppose."

"It's awfully embarrassing," she said forcefully.

"Having the heart to miss someone you loved?"

"No, no. Knowing that everyone here is going to be looking at me if something horrible happens and that I won't have the faintest idea what to do. Sure, I can't die and I'm pretty good at lighting candles, but does that mean that I can lead a nation? I don't think so."

"But you don't have to lead it," Mordred pointed out. "You're the kelda. You do the thinking. Everyone else does the hard work. You see the things other people cannot, and you point them in the right direction."

"But the thinking is the hard work!"

"It comes naturally to you! That's the reason that you're you!"

"I don't understand what you mean."

"It's like this. Your job isn't to tell the army where to go and how to form up for the battle. Your job is to listen as the council prepares for war and point out the weak points in their strategy. And then you send a few trusted friends to sneak around the back and set fire to the enemy's camp while you watch Arthur's back and make sure no wild arrows or spears hit him. You keep the people who deal with the everyday business of founding a great kingdom safe."

Freya nodded slowly. "I could do that," she said. "I like to be helpful. And anyway, that's sort of how he treated me already." She sounded much more hopeful. After all, when you were helpful, there was less chance of someone hitting you.

"What were you in Camelot? Whose servant were you?" Mordred sounded curious.

"I was the Queen's maid."

"Really? How did you get that job?"

"I was apprenticed to the apothecary and he went out with the patrols a lot and I suppose Arthur just got to know me. And so when Guinevere needed a maid -" She let the sentence tail off.

"And how did you end up being poisoned? Was it an accident?"

She shook her head. The sad look came back as she remembered the pressure of Merlin's hands on her throat. "I think it was because they found out I was Morgana's daughter."

"I am sorry," said Mordred. You, affronted that he had stopped petting him, stalked away.

"Why is he named You?" Freya asked. Anything to forget the memory of those awful last moments. Although she didn't mind the absolute last moments quite as much, but she wished they had happened when she was not dying.

Mordred smiled. "You'll see when you get to the third book."

"I thought Tiffany didn't like cats."

"You'll see," he said infuriatingly.

"Is Tiffany real?"

"I don't know. I think she is. She seems to understand the fundamentals of magic very well for a made-up person."

"So somewhere there really is a flat world flying through space on top of elephants standing on the back of a turtle?"

"Why not? Somewhere there is a land where men and elves and dwarves coexist. If that was tried here, can you imagine the wars? There has been enough bloodshed already because some humans can move things with their mind and other humans cannot."

Freya smiled. "I will put an end to that."

Mordred raised an eyebrow. "How, kelda?"

"I don't know. But I will. It needs to be stopped. It's wrong. I know that it's wrong."


	6. Chapter 6

Freya had a horse now. He had not been assigned to her. Wulfric had taken her out to a big field with a lot of young horses in it and she had spent the day with them. When they retuned the next day, she had chosen the one that followed her. He was a yearling, but already partially trained as a guardian's horse. His name, which she had not chosen, was Blaze. He was grey, with a black mane and tail, and was slightly too big for her.

He was stabled with Stian, Mordred's horse, across the road in the smithy. Freya was getting to know the two men who worked there now. Elyan did most of the traditional work - shoeing horses and repairing farm tools. Lancelot did more specialized work. He made swords and armor, and trained the young men of the village in the basic principles of knighthood. She liked Elyan more than Lancelot. Lancelot was too idealistic. And he did not seem to be capable of getting rid of a small mustache on his upper lip. It wasn't exactly gross, but it looked like some dirt had strayed onto his lip and decided to settle down there. It annoyed Freya considerably.

Both of them seemed to be firm friends with Mordred. They often came over and visited with him in his tiny cottage, and he spent a lot of time leaning against the wall in the smithy. Gwaine was there a lot too. She was starting to be friends with him, despite the fact that he had nicknamed her 'princess'. In fact, she was getting on well with all four of them. They were gradually slipping into treating her just like Arthur and Leon and Percival had. It was familiar. It felt safe.

She spent most of the spring in the forests around Ealdor, working with Blaze and going on forays with Avelina and Andrei and Mordred. They all would set out into the mountains with their horses, and Change as soon as they were out of sight of the village. Under normal circumstances, two wolves, a mountain lion, and a black bear all walking along together followed by four horses would have been an incredible sight. But everyone they met seemed to accept it without question.

Freya enjoyed the outdoors a lot more in cat shape. The smells and the sounds more than made up for the loss of some of her vision. To a cat, the world was in less vibrant shades of color, and nothing stood out unless it moved. But at night, it was like there was a full moon every night. Her night vision was superb. She felt at home in her cat form.

She tried wolf shape a few times. It was interesting. The nose was by far the dominant sense in that body, and it was well adapted for covering long distances. Bear shape was good for carrying things and for brute strength. But somehow, she liked her cat shape best of all. It was her soul.

It was not nearly as embarrassing as she had thought it would be to be a shapeshifter. The druids treated her talents with respect and even, sometimes, envy. Avelina was so completely unselfconscious about changing from human to animal and back again that Freya never once felt awkward about Changing with her.

"I'm just glad I have another girl to work with," Avelina said one day as they washed their muddy feet and hands in a forest stream before getting back into their clothes. They'd been sent up to investigate some bandits attempting to expand their business into druid territory. A few night raids had sent them panicking back over the border, howling that the hills were inhabited by demons. Freya was still giggling.

"Why?" Behind them, Blaze and Avelina's mare Delphine tore at the grass beside the stream.

Avelina ran her fingers through her knotted hair, sighed, and slid into the stream. "It was all right being with Andrei, I mean, he probably had to look after me when I was a baby. But poor Mordred always get flustered in this kind of situation. It's not as cold as it looks. Come on in."

Freya hesitated.

"Come on! You've got mud all over you."

"Don't you find the whole bath thing a bit hard just after a Change?"

"It's not a bath!" Avelina barked. "It's a playful dip in a stream. Don't be such a cat!"

Freya sighed and sat on the bank, letting her legs dangle in the water. It was only about three feet deep. But she was still fighting the urge to wash behind her ears with a paw. It was odd how being one shape for more than a few hours could sink itself into your muscle memory even after you shifted to another one. She compromised by scooping up handfuls of water and letting it run over herself.

"I mean, I'd have had to wait until I got back to Ealdor for a bath if I was with Mordred," Avelina continued. "But we're both girls. No reason to be shy."

Freya shrugged. She'd gotten herself into the current now. Cat, indeed. "It's just skin. With or without extra fur."

"I know!"

"I just wish I could keep my hair from growing birds' nests when I Change. You have it easy. There's no curl in your hair at all. I can tell if it's going to rain tomorrow if I wake up and those short pieces in the front that always seem to be there even if I don't cut them are all curled up like springs."

"What?"

"My hair curls if it's going to rain," Freya said gloomily.

"Oh." Avelina was floating on her back, playing with a small stick that had drifted past. She absentmindedly tried to chew it. The spiral tattoo on her left shoulder rippled as her skin moved. All the Guardians had one. Freya did not. Not yet. She didn't want one.

"Can I ask you something?"

Avelina spat the stick out. "Certainly."

"What does it feel like when you love someone?"

"Hmm?" If she had still been in wolf shape, her ears would have pricked and her head would have cocked to one side. As it was, Avelina merely looked surprised. "Why are you thinking about it?"

"I was reading the next book. _Wintersmith_?"

"Yes, I've read it. And?"

"Well, he somehow mistakes Tiffany for the Summer Lady. I don't see how that happened, because she's a human thirteen-year-old with clothes that are too big for her and the Summer Lady is an immortal anthropomorphic personification -"

"Spell that," Avelina challenged. Freya did.

"Anyway, somehow he mixes them up, and then he starts chasing Tiffany around. He thinks he's in love with her. Like, he makes her roses out of frost and makes all the snowflakes shaped like her. And then he even makes himself a human body and creates an ice palace for her and a dress and a crown. She feels sorry for him, but in the end she destroys everything and he goes off with the Summer Lady, who was a bit annoyed about the whole thing. So . . . "

"That's a fairly good outline of the story. What's bothering you about it?"

"Well - he wasn't really in love with her after all. He just thought he was. So what do people feel like when they really are in love?"

Avelina dogpaddled around in the deeper water in the center of the stream. She thought hard. Freya looked serious. "For me, I feel centered. I know that Mordred will be there if I need help, or someone to talk to, or just someone to sit with in silence. It is like friendship, but closer and warmer. I miss him when he is not there."

"But you fight with him sometimes."

"Of course we fight! Sometimes he is a total idiot. Sometimes I am. But we know that we fight because we don't want to see the other hurt. We talk it out. We don't stop talking if we disagree on something. Is there someone particular that you had in mind?"

"No. I was just wondering . . . "

It wasn't like Freya to let so many sentences go unfinished. Avelina sighed.

"You've been around Gwaine and Lancelot and Elyan a lot lately, haven't you?"

Freya seemed to be perplexed. "Yes, they visit Mordred nearly every day. They all seem to be good friends. What does that have to do with it?"

Avelina shrugged, paddling to the bank and climbing out of the water. She started to shake herself off, then stopped and looked sheepish. She pulled a towel out of one of her saddlebags. "They're all attractive in their own ways."

"Ugh."

"They are," she said calmly. "No use denying it."

"But they're so - so stupid! They don't think fast enough. They can't make connections like - Mordred can, and you can."

Avelina noticed the tiny stumble before 'Mordred', and wondered how many other people Freya knew had names that started with M. "They can't help that. After all, they don't know how it feels to have magic. Different backgrounds create divides."

Freya joined her on the bank. They got dressed and tried to comb the knots out of each other's hair.

"Look, kid, I wouldn't worry about it too much," Avelina said as kindly as possible, braiding Freya's short damp hair. "You'll find someone eventually. There's somebody for everybody. Like you said a while ago, you're only seventeen. And you're immortal. Don't be too quick about giving your heart to someone. It won't last."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll outlive them. You'll have to watch them die. Sorry, it's just the truth."

Freya rested her head against Blaze's warm shoulder. She wriggled her toes inside her boots. She hated the feeling of slightly damp feet inside socks inside boots. But she wouldn't give up her boots for the light shoes the rest of the Guardians favored. They fit her perfectly. And they were the only thing left from her time in Camelot. She'd never quite gotten around to repairing the clothes she had arrived in, and she didn't bother with the armor. No Guardian did. They all wore a simple outfit of tunic, leggings, and cloak, with a belt that held a knife and a purse and a bow and quiver on their back. They seldom had to use either weapon. Magic was their defense and attack.

I really wish that he was here, she thought for about the hundredth time. I bet he knew about this kind of thing. He knew about everything. Avelina is kind, but he had so much more . . . experience to draw on.

Which is a bit odd, really, because he can't be more than five or six years older than her. That's very odd, now that I think of it. He didn't feel young. Come to think of it, he didn't feel old. He just felt like - like Merlin.

"Are we leaving or not?" Avelina was looking down at her from Delphine's back.

"Sorry," Freya mumbled, and swung up onto Blaze's high back.

"Has Mordred shown you the songs that someone from the Other Side wrote about Tiffany?"

This yanked her unceremoniously out of her daydream. They had quickly discovered her love of music and poetry. Mordred had a laptop and a music player. It was now informally hers. He didn't use it that often.

"No! Where did you find it?"

"In the archives. They're old. Hundreds of years old. I think they were originally recorded around the twenty-first century."

"Beginning or end?"

"Beginning, probably. They have that sound."

"I like that time period. Some of it, anyway. Some of it is awful."

"Get him to give it to you. I'm pretty sure he has it on his computer."

0000

That night, Freya lay on her bed and listened to the songs. The album was called _Wintersmith_. Most of the songs were about that book, but there were a few from the first two books, too. Some of them were ear-piercingly annoying, and some were hideously embarrassing and sappy, but some were amazing. She liked the undercurrent of power and menace in their imagining of the Dark Morris song, and the joy of the song about the Summer Lady.

I could do what Tiffany did if I could just capture this feeling, she thought. I could take heat from a fire and pour it out onto snow. I could set the world alight with this, because it is happiness and release and confidence above everything else.

And then she came to the last song, and she went very still.

0000

The next morning, she was unusually quiet.

"Are you all right? How was the mission yesterday?" Hunith asked at breakfast. Freya had come in so late the night before that she had not seen her.

"It was good. We scared the bandits off." There was a faraway look in Freya's wide grey eyes. "Hunith?"

"Yes?"

"Could you - could you make me a collar? Like the ones Avelina and Andrei wear, but out of something soft instead of leather?"

"I suppose I could. I thought you didn't like the feeling of a collar."

"I think it just needs to be softer."

"I can try to make you one."

"Thank you."

"Will you want to hang your spiral pendant from it?"

"Yes, and - and something else, too."

Hunith made the collar out of black silk cord, knitted into a wide band. Freya tried it on.

"I like it," she said decidedly. "Thank you."

She surprised both of them by giving Hunith a hug. Hunith stroked the girl's hair as she held her.

"It's hard for you. I can see that. But I'm proud of you."

"Why?"

"You are very young for so much responsibility, but you take it well."

Freya shrugged. "I just ignore it, to be honest," she confessed. "I try not to think of anything but being here and learning things."

"You will do the right thing when your time comes."

0000

The spiral pendant hung neatly from a small metal loop knitted into the weave. Now it was time to attach the other thing. Freya's bottom lip was held firmly between her teeth as she tried to hook the tiny catch onto the loop.

There! It slid on and clicked. Now the spiral hung beside the crystal rosebud. She had gotten Elyan to wrap a thin steel band around the stem of the flower, and suspend a thin chain with a catch on the free end from it. Now it was all attached to her collar.

She put the collar on and buckled it, looking into a little mirror. It was nearly concealed by the high neckline of her tunic, but if she pulled it away she could see it, the black band contrasting sharply with her tanned skin and the silver spiral gleaming against it. And the little crystal flower dangled below it all, swinging from its steel chain. It would always be with her now, as a warning and a memory.

 **The music referenced is real — Wintersmith by Steeleye Span.**


	7. Chapter 7

Wulfric was interested in her new accessory, but beyond looking at it curiously and warning her not to lose it, he didn't say much. He got on with the lesson.

He usually taught her in the enormous library in one of the biggest and driest caves. There were alcoves with tables and benches for just that purpose. He had a stack of books they were working through - books on history, books on culture, books on science, books of spells, books that would have been called encyclopedias anywhere else but here were just known as 'reference books'. Freya enjoyed it all hugely.

Except for when he had her memorize spells. It was easy for her to remember them if they rhymed or she could find a rhythm to them. That was no problem. They'd be in her head for eternity. But every time she looked down at the old pages, yellowing and covered in pictures, she saw frustrated blue eyes and heard a voice explaining with exasperated patience why spells were important. Wulfric was impressed by her eagerness to learn them. She couldn't tell him that she was doing it out of guilt.

There was a copy of the Red Book in the library, too, with a stiffer cover and in unfamiliar handwriting. She hadn't been able to bring herself to open it, even though Wulfric had encouraged her to. Frodo and Gandalf and Aragorn were frozen in time, just like she was, trapped far away from home in unfamiliar lands, all of them waiting in dread for the future to unfold. She just couldn't find the courage to read the next page.

"I found this last night among the records," said Wulfric, placing a scroll in front of her. A scroll. Good grief, that was ancient! "Know your enemy, as they say." He smiled at her and sat down. She sat beside him and watched as he unrolled it.

"This is about Emrys," he said. Freya stared at the dusty paper for a while. There were beautiful pictures on it, mostly dragons and castles, but she could not understand the words. "I can translate it for you. Are you listening?"

She nodded, not really paying attention. He was constantly feeding her bits and pieces of information about her predecessor. He was getting her ready for battle. And at the end of her education, he - and all the other druids in the world - expected her to go out and hunt down an old man and kill him, just to make sure that she had a clear field. It was wrong! But at the same time, she could see the horrible logic behind it.

Kill Emrys, and his space in the world will be empty. She would fill it, and gradually his power and knowledge would be passed down to her. And she was young and strong and full of fresh ideas for the creation of this fantastic kingdom called Albion. She could bring peace to the squabbling kingdoms here, and maybe even justice and much-needed change to the Other Side.

But the price for that had to be paid in blood, and it was blood that did not stand a chance of escape. Sometimes, thinking about it, Freya felt sick.

"And so Emrys commanded the Great Dragon, saying to it, Go away, and never trouble this land again, or you shall regret it."

"What?" she said, startled. Wulfric gave her a patient glare.

"Weren't you listening?"

"Uh. . . "

"There is a time for thinking and a time for listening. Now, I'll read it one more time, but not again."

"Sorry."

It was an account of Emrys setting loose a Great Dragon who had been imprisoned beneath the castle of Camelot, in return for advice from it about a great sickness that caused all in the land to sleep while dark knights invaded the castle and sought to kill the king. The Great Dragon told Emrys how to kill the witch who had cast the spell, and immediately afterwards, had been released. The Dragon had tried to take revenge on the king for imprisoning him by incinerating the land, but Emrys had gone on a journey into the wilderness and discovered another of his powers: he could speak to and command dragons.

"He was a Dragonlord?" Freya asked. "Is, I mean?"

"How do you know of the Dragonlords? They died out during the Great Purge. Only two escaped Uther's slaughter. One died in the mountains near here soon after, and the other vanished." Wulfric looked sharply at her

"I read a book," she lied. "In the library at Camelot."

"Hmpfh!" he snorted. "They seem very incautious with their secrets there. Emrys is the last Dragonlord, the son of one of the two who escaped."

"So he has a dragon?"

"He may. I think it's unlikely. There are only two living dragons in existence, and both of them live in these mountains. One is very old, and seldom leaves his cave. The other flies down to us occasionally. As far as I know, Emrys has had no contact with either of them for centuries."

"Well, if everyone was asleep -"

"He would not have slept."

Freya stared at him. "Why not?"

"He is this land's guardian. It was his destiny to remain awake, waiting for his king. He had to be there and ensure that the king had something to come back to."

"But that's horrible!" Freya had a nightmare vision of hundreds of years spent utterly alone, with only dust and cobwebs and little animals to keep her company.

"It was his job," Wulfric said calmly, giving her a shrewd glance. "He was ready for it."

"I saw a dragon once, flying around near the castle."

"Ah." Wulfric filed this information away. "But still, I do not think you will be in any danger from them when your time comes to battle him. Your power grows even as his wanes."

"So there are only two dragons left?"

"Two living ones," he corrected. "We have a dozen or so dragon eggs in the vaults. They're alive, but sleeping. A Dragonlord must call them from the shell. I think perhaps it would be good for you to see them." He got up. "Come, Freya. We can keep no secrets from you."

0000

The vaults. She didn't care much for the vaults. They were the deepest caves, far away from sunlight and fresh air. Not even a stream stirred the dead atmosphere down there. They could only be reached by ladders leading down deep, dark holes. Freya felt herself trying to Change. In cat form, she would be able to see and feel much more. She resisted it. Paws were no good on a ladder.

Wulfric lit the torches as they walked along the central tunnel. He stopped in front of a big iron door and shoved it open. "They have a room to themselves," he said.

The cave was small. There were a dozen alcoves carved into the walls. Each niche held a metal box.

"The eggs are in the boxes. It's the safest way to store them." He took a box down. It was about three feet on each side. The lid flipped open. Freya bent over it.

The egg was a lovely bluey-green color, and the shell was translucent. The little dragon inside was curled up and sleeping. It would be about the size of a small lapdog when it hatched: the egg was big enough to nearly fill the box.

"She's beautiful," Freya said. "But not quite ready." She put her hands into the box and lifted the egg out, tenderly cradling it in her arms. It was just as heavy as she had expected. "It's too cold down here for them. They've gone dormant. Even more dormant than before, I mean."

Wulfric looked uneasy as she glanced around the cave and pointed to another alcove. "And her, too. Bring her."

"Why?" he asked. Freya blinked.

"Because she's nearly ready to hatch too. You don't want to leave them trapped down here, do you?"

He lifted down the other box. The egg in that one had a fiery red shell, veined with streaks of yellow. He held it carefully. She sounded sure of herself, but still . . . He'd have to check the records again.

"A dragon cannot hatch on its own," he said. "One who is brother to them must call it from the shell."

She shrugged.

"There are no known Dragonlords but Emrys. Who is going to hatch these eggs?"

"I don't know, but I'm not leaving them down here in the dark. They want to be free. Can't you hear them?"

"No. I cannot."

0000

Freya took the eggs back to the cottage. Wulfric seemed uneasy, but she didn't know why he should be. She'd told him that she would look after them, and she would. She felt very possessive about those two eggs for some reason.

You padded into the room and jumped up on her bed. He flattened his ears when he saw the eggs in the corner of the room in a nest of blankets and old clothes that Freya had built for them. She put her hands on her hips and stared sternly at the big white cat.

"Now listen, You. Disturb those dragon eggs and I will be very annoyed. Understand?"

She didn't need to meet his sullen gaze to know that he understood. She could speak Cat now with reasonable fluency. It was mostly body language, anyway.

"Good."

Hunith seemed a bit worried when she noticed them. She got Mordred to come and look at them, and after they had each had a good look, particularly at the translucent blue one, they both looked anxiously at Freya.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Hunith asked. "The druids keep very good care of them."

"They like it here," she said stubbornly. "They were restless down there in the dark."

"How are you going to hatch them?" Mordred asked. "Are you a Dragonlord?"

"How should I know?"

"Go find a dragon and see what happens. A live one, I mean."

"I saw one once in Camelot."

"What did it do? Did it like you?"

"It was a long way off. It was flying around outside the town."

"I've never heard of a female Dragonlord. I thought they didn't exist," said Hunith.

"Yeah, she's right," Mordred agreed. "Everyone knows that. Only the sons of Dragonlords inherit their abilities. Their daughters never do."

"What? Why?"

"No one knows." Mordred shrugged. "Look, I think I understand. Maybe you can sense that they are ready to hatch because of how powerful you are. But you won't be able to hatch them. There are some things you just can't do."

Freya looked at the eggs. "Then I'll keep them safe for someone who can."

0000

On some days, everyone just got on her nerves. The smells and sounds of the village became unbearable, and she just had to get away.

Today, after getting up angrily, sulking all morning, and snapping at everyone when they met in the Guardian headquarters (a stone hut in the trees well outside the village), Avelina had suggested that she take a day off.

"Go do whatever you want. We'll take care of the reports." The reports were messages from every tribe in the druid lands. They constantly sent bits of news, both about internal things like births and deaths, and external things like rumors and news from the kingdoms around them, to Ealdor. The Guardians read and filed all of them, passing on only the important things to Wulfric and the senior druids who were the leaders of all the tribes.

Freya wandered out to the big open field and whistled for Blaze. He was already coming towards her, his long ears pricked. She ran her fingers through his heavy mane.

"I had a horse before you. She was black. Her name was Goldberry. She wasn't half as fast as you."

Really?

She got the feeling sometimes that Blaze was talking back. "Someone found her for me. Not like how we met."

And that was why she occasionally needed space. It was the dreams. It was always the dreams. Impractical and inconvenient and impossible though they were, they stirred strange feelings inside her. She felt lost and frightened and unbalanced, and she longed for the stability she had felt for those few months in the castle. And when she knew that she could not stop those feelings, it made her angry.

She scrambled up onto Blaze's back, not bothering with saddle or bridle. "Shadowfax never let himself be saddled. He was a great horse," she told Blaze, to drown out the thought, Look at you! What would he say if he could see you now?

Freya rode off into the woods, going up towards the mountain looming overhead. She'd never been there before. She'd always gone towards the Camelot border when she rode with other people.

"He was silver by day and unseen by night," she added. "He was the fastest living horse in Middle-Earth. He was friends with a great wizard."

Stop ignoring it, silly girl.

"Don't be cheeky!"

I can tell by your smell.

"All right, all right," she said irritably. "I had that dream again."

Yes?

"It was so peaceful there. I felt -" She stopped, searching for the word. She could not find it. "Warm. Safe. At ease. Like I had something that I did not arrange myself that could be relied on. Honesty."

What is the dream?

"It's not much, really. It's dark, and there's a storm outside, and we're sitting together and he's reading to me. That's all. But it makes me feel so many . . . feelings. Things I always have managed to delete before. Why do I feel so hungry for something that happened in the past?"

It's called homesickness.

"Is it? Why does it hurt?"

You tell me.

"He tried to murder me! He thought I was trying to kill the King! And - and still - I still miss him." There. It was said. Blaze's ears twitched. "And no, I don't feel particularly revengeful or bitter or anything like that. I'd just like to have things go back to how they were. I don't mean that we wouldn't have a flaming row when we meet again, but I don't feel like lying in wait for him with a crossbow."

That's good.

"I want an explanation, that's all."

You've stopped wearing the bracelet.

"I don't want to be reminded of her every time I move my arm!"

Are you not proud of your line?

"No! What is there to be proud of? Traitors, murderers, proud and heartless - why should I be proud of that?"

So the King now is bad?

"Arthur? No, he's . . . fair, and caring, and . . . and a good king, I suppose."

Wear the bracelet. Show the world you are everything that he is and they were not.

Freya frowned as she tried to work that one out. "You mean, wear it and be a really wise and generous person and then throw it in people's faces and go, 'yes, I'm Morgana's granddaughter and look, I haven't even tried to murder Arthur yet?' "

Exactly.

Freya looked thoughtful. "I suppose it's worth a try. Why are you so smart? You're only a horse."

But I am your horse. I was born to serve you.

"Where are we?" she asked. She hadn't really been paying much attention to where they were going, and Blaze's long legs could cover the ground very fast. She looked around.

They were in a meadow surrounded by trees, some way up the side of the mountain. She tugged on Blaze's mane. "Stop." She could see Ealdor below them, like a kid's toy town built from cardboard and blocks. Above them, the mountain filled the sky. There were caves up there, dark holes in the stone. As she watched, a white creature slid out of one of the highest ones and dropped like a stone towards them.

It was a dragon.


	8. Chapter 8

The dragon landed in the meadow not far from where Freya was still sitting on Blaze's back. The horse hadn't moved a muscle, but she could feel him trembling. She patted his neck soothingly.

The dragon was white, with big eyes that were the bluest shade of blue she had ever seen. It had claws on the ends of its wings, and four feet. There were big floppy spines down its back. As it landed, she noticed just a hint of awkwardness about it, something twisted, almost deformed.

Freya slid off Blaze and walked towards the dragon, who did not move. It just stood there, looking at her intelligently.

"Aithusa?" she said slowly, feeling the name rise to the surface of her mind like a bubble. "That's you, isn't it? The Light of the Sun?"

The dragon nodded.

"Why can't you speak?"

"Brother not teach." The words were hissed carefully.

"You have to be taught to speak?"

"Yes. Brother teach Human."

"But - Don't you speak Dragon?"

"Sister speak Dragon?"

She blinked. "I don't know. Do I?"

'I think you do. I felt your presence when you awakened the hatchlings. You are Freya. I have been waiting for you for many years.'

Freya felt the strange words rearrange themselves in her mind and present their meaning. 'Have you? Why?' It was a funny language, she decided. It made her voice deeper than it had ever been before.

Aithusa shrugged. 'Dragons always know a little of the future. It's built in. I saw that you would come. I protected Morgana to ensure your survival.'

'Thanks, I suppose.'

He looked at her with his beautiful blue eyes. They were eerily similar to Merlin's. 'When were you hatched?' she asked.

'Many years ago.'

'Who hatched you?'

'Emrys did. But he could not keep me with him, and I knew that I had to leave him in any case. I had to wait for you.'

Freya put out her hand, palm open. After a moment of hesitation, Aithusa lowered his head. The tip of his nose nestled against her hand. His skin was warm and smooth.

'What do I do with the eggs?' she asked.

'Hatch them. You will know when it is time.'

She sighed. 'Everything is so big and complicated. I wish - why is this happening to me?'

'You are special.'

'No, I'm not. Not really. I don't want to be special. I'd give it all up just for someone to not fear me. Everyone runs away from me in the end. Everyone uses me and then throws me away. Why does that happen? I try to be nice and unselfish and not hurt people, and they always suspect me of plotting against them! Even . . . Sometimes they do it just because of who my ancestors were. I thought they'd be able to see beyond that.'

Aithusa snuffled quietly against her hand. 'You can trust the druid boy.'

'Who?'

'Mordred is his name. I forged a sword for him once. He was following Morgana then. But he will follow you now. His loyalty has always been divided between brother and sister; now he will give his allegiance to you, because you have all their strengths and weaknesses, but you are able to turn that weakness into a strength.'

'Mordred? Really? He is nice. He doesn't treat me like the others do. He doesn't look apprehensive.'

'He is loyal to a fault once his heart is won.'

Freya was stroking Aithusa's neck now. The dragon seemed to be enjoying it. Blaze nudged her in the back. "Hey!"

'What is this?' said Aithusa.

'He's my horse. Blaze. I think he's jealous.'

The horse and the dragon stared at each other. Then they touched noses.

0000

When she got back to the cottage, it was late afternoon. Mordred was sitting on the porch of his little house. Gwaine was lounging beside him, You sprawled over his lap. She wandered up to them and sat down.

"Did I miss anything?" she asked. Mordred shook his head.

"Not much. There's nothing going on over the border."

"That's good."

"It's too quiet," Gwaine said moodily. "Not like the good old days. No questing knights, no strange invasions, no plagues or bandits. Not even a unicorn sighting. It's not right."

"I know," said Mordred, nodding. There was a faraway look in his eyes.

"So?" Freya said. "What do you mean, the good old days?"

"When we worked for Arthur. Good times," said Gwaine. "Remember the time we all went to rescue Gwen?"

"I wasn't on that one," said Mordred. "I'd torn the muscles in my sword arm, training."

"You weren't?" Gwaine looked surprised. He squinted, as though trying to bring the memory into focus. "That was when Elyan died, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. I remember being at the funeral."

"Remember how Merlin got us through that wood?"

Freya suddenly felt as though the whole universe was watching her. Her face was hot. Were they looking at her? Why was she reacting like this to just the mention of a name? It was illogical.

"I wasn't there!" Mordred said testily.

"Sorry." Gwaine shook his head. "I'd never seen anything like it. We were lost in this awful thorny forest, not even able to see the sun. We went round in circles for a whole day. Arthur was frantic. Anyway, the next morning, Merlin says 'Look, guys, I know the way,' and Arthur says 'Oh yeah? So which way is it, then?' and Merlin says 'This wood turns the directions around, so to go east we have to go west' and Arthur says 'Which way is west?' and he points and we all look skeptical, and then the sun comes out and he was right. And for the rest of the time we just followed him without a second thought. He led us right to the edge of the forest in no time. He was a nice boy. Clever. I wonder what happened to him."

"I don't suppose anything would have gotten him to leave Arthur," said Mordred. "I suppose he's still at the castle."

"I wish I'd been alive when Arthur died. It must have been hard for him." Gwaine looked over at Freya. "Why are you blushing, princess?"

"Trick of the light," she said stiffly, glad of the setting sun.

Gwaine snorted. "Yeah, right."

"How do you mean, he wouldn't leave Arthur?"

"What I said. They were best friends. Closer than anyone. I think that Arthur would even abandon the Queen before leaving Merlin."

"How do you know so much about them? What were you?"

"We were knights," said Mordred.

"Sir Gwaine, Knight of Camelot," said Gwaine, trying to bow while You was sitting on his chest. "Original Knight of the Round Table here."

"I came later," said Mordred.

"You were the baby brother. You and Merlin."

"He's not a knight," said Freya.

"He was there when Arthur created the Table. He was one of us," said Gwaine.

"What about Elyan and Lancelot?"

"Yeah, they were there too, at the beginning. Lancelot and Merlin were close."

"Ugh. Really?"

Mordred was looking at her quizzically. "Why is that hard to believe?"

"That mustache!"

Gwaine laughed. Mordred looked blank. "So you know Merlin, then." It wasn't a question.

"I can't help it. We worked together a lot."

"I suppose you would have," said Mordred. He looked as though he'd just solved a puzzle.

"How was he doing?" Gwaine asked. Nothing but casual interest was in his face.

"Fine, I think," said Freya. She could still feel his arms around her as everything went dark. She could still hear him crying.

Mordred sat up and put an arm around her shoulders. She leant back on him, grateful for the support, even though she was not sure why he was giving it to her.

The gate squeaked. Andrei poked his head into the garden. Gwaine waved cheerfully at him. He came over to them, scaring a hen off the porch.

"Something just came in," he said, sitting down.

"Yes?" said Mordred.

"Wulfric says he wants us to investigate."

"Who's us?" asked Gwaine.

"Me, Avelina, you, you, and you," said Andrei, pointing to Mordred, Freya, and Gwaine. "He says it needs careful handling."

"What is it, then?" Freya asked.

Andrei looked grave. He always looked serious, but now he managed to look even more so. "There are rumors of an incursion of major proportions being planned. We must see if they are true."

"I know what that means," Freya said happily. "Something nasty is about to happen, and we need to go hit it over the head with a big iron frying pan."

"Sorry?" said Gwaine, the only person present who had not read _The Wee Free Men_. Mordred and Andrei just nodded.

"She means we have to go protect people," said Mordred wearily. "Again."

"Where is the invasion coming from? And where are they invading?" Freya asked, although she already thought she knew the answer.

Andrei waved a hand. "Camelot, of course. Never seen such a place for transdimensional disturbances."

They all nodded gloomily. Then Gwaine got to his feet. "We'd better be off soon, then." You was draped lazily over one of his arms, hanging limply, like wet laundry.

"First thing in the morning, Wulfric says," said Andrei. "That all right by you? We're good."

"It's fine," said Mordred.

"Yeah," said Freya, sighing. She hated having two of the same numbered times in one day, unless it was noon and midnight.

"I'd better go pack. See you in the morning!" said Gwaine, and left. Andrei followed him. Mordred and Freya were left alone on the porch. He still had his arm around her shoulders. He shook her gently.

"How did you get on with him?"

"Who?" she asked. You strolled regally across the porch and curled up in the warm spot Gwaine had left. He liked Gwaine.

"Merlin. If you were Gwen's servant and he was Arthur's, I suppose you saw quite a lot of each other."

"Yes. I - I liked him. A lot. He was kind."

"He's always kind. Unless you're threatening someone he loves. Then he is - " Mordred hesitated. "He's someone you don't want to meet. The kindest people can be the most dangerous."

"Demons run when a good man goes to war," Freya said vaguely. "It's an old saying."

"It's true."

"I heard that you used to follow Morgana."

She felt him droop. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Why?"

"I had lost hope. I believed that Emrys would make Arthur see sense and repeal his father's laws on magic. It didn't happen. It still hasn't happened. So I gave up after someone dear to me was executed under those laws, and went to help Morgana."

"Has she come back?"

"No. To be honest, I don't want her to. She . . . was not a nice person. I am happy as I am now."

"With Avelina? She told me it was a secret," she added.

"Yes, and with my family now. I have her and you and Andrei and Hunith. I feel loved."

"Loved," Freya said slowly. "Is that the word? How does it feel?"

Mordred thought. "Stable. Safe. Warm. That is what I mean by it."

She nodded slowly. "It is safe here. I think that even if other druids did not live here, we would be safe in this house."

"Yes. Hunith knows our burden."

"Magic?"

"Yes."

"But how? She said her son had magic, but how does that - ? Why did she take us in?"

Mordred smiled. It was dark now, but she could hear it in his voice. "I think we remind her of him. I suppose she misses him. All her family are gone, and so are ours. Who else is there for us?"

"I suppose I can understand that," Freya said slowly. "Will she make sure the eggs are safe until I get back?"

"I should think so. But really, Freya, you should put them back. They need to be cared for by a Dragonlord."

"I am a Dragonlord," she said smugly.

"You can't be!"

"Why not?"

"You're a woman!"

"So? Don't be prejudiced."

"But - all the Dragonlords I've ever heard of have been male! Are you sure?"

"I met a dragon today, up on the mountain, and I could speak Dragon, and he said I was one. So there."

"Which dragon?" Mordred demanded. "The old golden one won't come down the mountain for anything."

"His name was Aithusa. He was white."

Mordred was silent.

"He said he forged a sword for you once."

"Yes. He did. I killed Arthur with that sword."

"Do you know why he helped Morgana?"

"No."

"He was making sure that I would be born. That's awfully sweet, isn't it?" She was slightly embarrassed by that sentence. But it was true, and a bit exciting, to know that an actual dragon had been waiting for you for hundreds of years.

"So that's why he didn't come back to her after the battle," Mordred murmured. "His task was done. Her son was safe."

"He said that Emrys hatched him."

"He probably did," Mordred agreed. A dark shape appeared out of the garden.

"Are you all right? Dinner's ready."

"Sorry, mum," said Mordred. "We were talking. We have to go off on a mission in the morning."

Hunith smiled at Freya. "That will be fun. Make sure you look after each other."


	9. Chapter 9

She sat at Gwaine's feet and thumped her tail absently on the stone floor of the tavern. Mordred and Andrei were both under the table with her. Andrei was half asleep. Mordred was gnawing on a bone and glaring at her whenever she looked at him. Avelina was sitting across from Gwaine, her hair braided neatly and without her collar on, smiling at the locals.

Freya yawned and managed to keep back a snarl as a man that had just been talking with Gwaine and Avelina got up and wandered off, patting her on the head as he went. She was getting used to wolf shape, but it was a bit like wearing a sweater that had used to be her favorite but was now slightly too small and didn't fit under the arms anymore. Something about it was a perpetual low-level annoyance.

They were undercover, deep in the kingdom of Camelot. Gwaine and Avelina were pretending to be a couple, hunters and wanderers. They had three of their excellent hunting dogs with them. People would talk to mysterious handsome strangers with dogs, especially if they met them in a tavern. It was a curious weakness of human nature.

Freya scratched her ear with a hind leg. She was sure that the floor had fleas on it. There was a crunching as Mordred finished the bone. He still looked embarrassed. Shapeshifters got used to eating some very nasty things when they were not in human form, but it was awkward to pick bone shards from your teeth when you had fingers again.

Gwaine nudged Andrei with a foot. Avelina had already stood up. "We're going!" he said. "Come on, boys!"

Andrei and Mordred crawled out from under the table. Freya followed them. All five of them headed out of the little village to the camp they had made deep in the forest, well away from any path or regular patrol route. The three wolves disappeared hastily into the bushes and came out again as humans, and in Freya's case, trying to work the knots from her hair.

Mordred was grumbling. "I hate wolf shape. The paws don't work right and the nose is on overload."

"It was worth it, though," said Andrei. "I went out and pretended to sleep by the horses. The men there were talking about it, too."

Gwaine sat down by their tiny fire and stirred the embers morosely. "What are we going to do about it?"

"Which part of it?" asked Avelina, wielding a comb with fearsome dexterity on Freya's curls.

Andrei handed Mordred a leather bottle. "Mouthwash," he said laconically. Mordred nodded his thanks.

"We ought to do something about the people from the Other Side. I mean the ones who wanted to come here and are being driven out again," Freya said heatedly. "It's not fair - ow! - that they're being blamed for this. It's not their fault. Why are people blaming them for the raids?"

"Because people always need someone to look down on, someone to hate," said Gwaine. "Nobles despise peasants. Peasants despise beggars. Everyone despises sorcerers. Sorcerers despise people who hate them."

"It seems to me that there is not much we can do for the people who are being driven out of their homes," said Andrei in a measured way. "If the King cannot stop the mob, how can we?"

"We can take them in if they reach our borders," said Avelina, winding a leather strip around the end of Freya's braid. "There you go. I know it's always been our custom to take in anyone persecuted unjustly, but I think we should start running a sort of rescue for these people from the Other Side."

"Most of them made it here because of latent magic, anyway," Mordred agreed.

"Has anyone heard anything about a boy called Nicholas? Son of Sir Roderick?" Freya asked. Everyone shook their heads.

"Why?" Gwaine asked.

"He and his sister led a sort of half-baked plan to overthrow Arthur a few months ago. She was a very amateur sorceress. She died, but he got away. And they were working with soldiers from the Other Side."

"You think this is connected with that?"

"He could be showing the soldiers where the doors are. It's a possibility."

"That's true," Mordred agreed.

"Why haven't you mentioned him before?" Andrei asked.

"It didn't seem to matter. But now, I'm wondering if he isn't behind this somehow. It sounds like him. He is a bully."

Gwaine yawned. "We should head back now. I don't think we'll learn anything else. And Avelina is right."

"Let's start working back towards Ealdor, then. We can take in a few more villages on the way if we cut through the Valley of the Fallen Kings," said Andrei. "It's not a good idea to double back on our track."

"But the patrols ride through there all the time," Freya protested.

"We're Guardians. They won't see us," said Avelina.

Gwaine reached over and tweaked one of Freya's curls. "Scared, princess?"

"No!"

"Then let's go. It'll be nice to see the old place again, anyway."

0000

They started on their way at dawn, to much grumbling from everyone. The unshod hooves of their horses made no sound on the turf as they skirted the edge of the forest and edged into the narrow ravine that was the entrance to the Valley of the Fallen Kings. The dew dripped from the trees as they trotted along the path, tricking uncomfortably down Freya's neck when a drop splatted onto her head.

At least she didn't have to look at the castle on the horizon anymore. That had been hard. They'd come so close to it, within a few hours' easy ride. It had been so tempting to just slip off at night and prowl around the town, maybe leave a note for Sophie. "Hi, I'm not dead. I miss you." Something like that. But that was too risky, and she'd never hear the end of it.

"Last time I was here I was with Merlin," said Gwaine conversationally. If there was a silence, he could he relied on to fill it. "He had something to do in the caves around here. I was his bodyguard. I never saw him again," he added in a more somber tone. "I hope he found what he was looking for."

"Where did he go?" Mordred asked. Gwaine shrugged.

"Search me. All these caves look the same. I think he was after a weapon of some sort."

Freya was glad that the gear of the Guardians included a dark green cloak with a deep hood. They were all riding with them on. The cloaks helped break up their outlines and make them hard to see. Right now, she had her hood on because of the heavy dew, and was glad of it. Her eyes were stinging.

"I wish we could drop in on Arthur. Say hello, look, we came back from the dead too, how about a reunion. Do you think - ?"

"No," Mordred said very firmly.

"Not until it is time," said Andrei. "There will be a time when we can live openly in this land. Freya will bring it."

Freya blinked hard and felt a tear slide down one cheek. The little green plants that she now knew were strawberries were everywhere on the forest floor. Some even still had late berries on them. It was so hard, knowing that everyone was looking to her for justice and answers. It was such a weight.

Avelina stood up in her stirrups, sniffing the breeze. "I smell fear. Lots of it. And something burning."

"Torches," agreed Andrei. "About an hour ago."

"A mob, running," said Gwaine. Everyone looked at him, except Freya, who took advantage of their distraction to wipe her eyes on her sleeve. "Look down," he said. "Footprints in the mud. Sheesh. I'm not entirely useless, you know."

"Let's see where they lead," said Mordred, twitching his reins and sending Stian into a canter.

0000

There was a mob of people waving various homemade weapons and torches. That seemed pretty normal for a mob. No self-respecting group of angry people ever made do with anything less. The Guardians sat completely still in the trees, looking down into the hollow where about a dozen people were surrounded by the ring of shoving villagers.

They must be really mad to have followed them into here, said Mordred's voice in Freya's head.

I know, Avelina answered. But they don't look like criminals. Look, they're carrying packs. One of them is a child.

I know those two, said Freya. They're my friends. From the Other Side. And I know the man with the big bundle and the couple with the child by sight. They're from the Other Side too.

They all exchanged glances. Gwaine, who had not been able to hear their telepathic conversation, made a face. Mordred made some complicated hand signal. Gwaine nodded, his face turning grim.

You go wolf shape, said Mordred. Gwaine and I will stay as we are.

Why? said Andrei.

Two men with weapons and big dogs get respect.

Oh, right. Come on, girls.

The three of them dropped from their horses and retreated into the trees. Freya took her boots off, stuffed her socks neatly into them, tore off her cloak and shirt and trousers and hastily wrapped them all up in a bundle, and concentrated.

She could clearly smell the anger and fear pouring off the crowd now. The pursued had been traveling for some time, but the pursuers had a mix of smells suggesting that they had picked up most of their number quite recently.

"Those men in the armor are egging them on," Gwaine hissed under his breath. "See them?"

"I think you're right. Andrei says they smell like bandits," said Mordred. "Let's go."

He and Gwaine nudged their horses forward, and they crashed down into the hollow. Avelina and Andrei and Freya followed them, their muscles rippling beneath their fur.

"What's going on?" Gwaine asked.

"They bring the soldiers! They only come to steal and murder!" said someone from in the crowd.

"Who?" said Gwaine calmly.

"These devils! They are sorcerers! All of them!"

"Nonsense. If they were sorcerers, do you think you would have been able to catch them?"

That caused a pause.

"Let them go," said Gwaine. "You've done enough damage already."

"Who are you to order us around?" said a man, pushing forward. "This is our business."

"What will the King say when he hears that people he personally offered safety to are being driven from their homes?" Mordred asked. "What do you think he will do?"

There was another general pause for thought from most of the crowd.

"Go," said Gwaine, drawing his sword.

The man drew his, and in the circle that was tight around the fleeing villagers, some men took out knives.

The three wolves had moved before the men even had time to see that they were there. Most of the crowd turned and ran as the fight began, but the core group, the ones who smelled of forest and blood and smoke, stayed and fought back.

Gwaine and Mordred were both on the ground now, their horses waiting on the side to kick and bite any unwary man that tried to sneak up behind their riders. The wolves were taking care of the rest of the men.

Freya chased one of the ruffians screaming into the trees and turned back, lunging for another man's throat just as he turned to stab at Avelina. She brought him down, standing with her forepaws on his chest and her jaws locked around the hand holding the knife. He screamed and dropped it. Right. She looked down at him, growling.

She was completely capable of tearing his throat out. She knew that. It was what this body was for, besides running long distances and following scents. But should she? Andrei and Avelina had no problem with it. It was a fair fight. The men they were fighting had weapons, while they just had teeth and claws. Besides, they had mouthwash to help the taste go away. And it wasn't like these men were worth anything. They were bad. Worse than bad. Freya could smell the plastic smell of the doors between the worlds on him. He was a traitor. But -

She took her paws off him and snarled. The man sprang up and ran for the trees, blood dripping from his arm. She couldn't kill him. She knew how it felt to die. No one deserved that kind of fear and helplessness.

I'm not like her. I won't use my powers to hurt people. I just want justice.

The fight was over now. The people they had saved were crowding around Gwaine and Mordred now, asking for their escort.

"I don't see why not," said Gwaine. He met Avelina's gaze for half a second. "Tell you what. We're going that way, over the border. You come with us. We can give you a new start."

Freya sidled up to one of the little crowd and nudged her nose into a hand. Sophie turned sharply. Freya wagged her tail, feeling a little embarrassed. Sophie stared, then bent down.

"Cottia?" she hissed.

How on earth could Sophie have guessed? Freya nodded. Sophie poked Jenny viciously in the ribs. Jenny looked around and then down. Her eyes widened.

Shapeshifters always knew each other. It was pretty much a rule. But some were better at hiding their abilities than others. Jenny and Sophie turned out to be masters at deception.

"I wish you'd known earlier," said Sophie later that night as they sat around a tiny fire. A little distance away, the rest of the refugees were already asleep. "We could have had so much fun."

"So you and your aunt and uncle are the wolf shapeshifter family we've been hearing about?" Mordred demanded.

"We must be. We can all do it. Mum's the most powerful," said Sophie.

"We tried to keep it hidden," said Jenny.

"You did very well," said Avelina. "It's hard, especially for that hour after you Change back and still try to scratch your ear with your leg. You get funny looks."

"Why are you here?" Freya demanded. "Where's the Doctor and Rose?"

"Things were getting bad. We left to try and make it over the border to Ealdor and tell the druids there about everything. The Doctor and Mum moved into the castle. The King asked them to help work out how to close the doors, or at least develop some kind of control over them. The Doctor's good at that kind of thing," said Jenny. "The question I want answered is, why are you here? We heard you died."

"Just for a bit," Freya mumbled. "It didn't work."

"She's immortal for now," said Andrei.

"Really? Why?" said Sophie.

"She is Freya."

"Oh." The understanding nod came from both sisters.

"You know about me?" Freya demanded.

"Of course. We keep in touch with druids who come past. We all have magic, you know. You can't avoid it if you're a shapeshifter. We've heard about you ever since we arrived," said Jenny.

"How are you going to get Arthur to lift the ban on magic?" Sophie asked. Freya shrugged.

"Haven't really thought about it. There's stuff to do first."

And that seemed to satisfy them. They all kept talking, about Changing and magic and how much they'd just like to be themselves. No one seemed inclined to question her. Stuff to do first? Well, it was your destiny, and your responsibility. We're sure you know what you're doing.

But Freya had no idea what to do. Or rather, she knew what to do, but didn't know how to do it. I will take the Ring, though I do not know the way, she thought. I know how you felt, Frodo. The burden is mine to bear, freely taken, but not really, because there is no other real option. I wish I could talk to you. Or to Tiffany. She was a witch. She understood how to look after people. She understood how it felt to have to do things that she didn't want to. I'm not good with people. I can barely make eye contact, even with my friends.

And then no one seems to care that my destiny is to be a serial killer, and that includes tracking and killing someone I've never met and have no grudge against, just because it's time for me to replace him. She was wondering a lot about Emrys. What was he like? Was he a nice person or a grumpy one? How old had he been when he learned what his destiny was? What had he been like before that? Such a long time carrying such a burden had probably twisted him out of all resemblance to how he had started. Would that happen to her? How did he feel about Arthur? What if he had grown to be friends with the King? Would he really want to die? Why couldn't she just explain things and agree to take over the heavy duties from him? Wouldn't that be better all around?

He would know things that it would take her lifetimes to learn. He could teach her so much. What if he was just like she was? Could they have been friends if they had not been forced to be rivals?

And I won't be able to kill him, she thought miserably. I let that thug go today. I let all of them go. If anyone deserves to die, it is people like them: bullies, traitors, cowards. I feel sick when I think of killing anyone, even with magic. I remember the ones I killed when I discovered that I had magic. I wish I hadn't. I don't like killing!

I wish Merlin was here. I don't want to be destined for great deeds. I want to go home.


	10. Chapter 10

There was something comforting about the way the dragon eggs nestled in their little mound of blankets in the corner of her room. Freya slumped down on her bed and stared at them.

So Jenny and Sophie were being looked after by Wulfric. They were going to live in the caves for now. That was good. The refugees who had come with them were being cared for by people in the village. That was good, too.

They'd made their report to Wulfric. The doors were opening much more easily than ever before, and parties of soldiers from the Other Side were roaming across Camelot, attacking isolated homes and generally being nuisances. And the people who lived there were reacting by attacking the people who had moved in from the Other Side. It was a mess.

Freya slid off her bed and knelt by the eggs. The sound of the sea was in her ears. If she closed her eyes, she could see it, the waves crashing onto the rocky beach and the wind blowing hard and stinging along the shore. And she could see far out, beyond the mist that encircled this land.

She had read about what sailors had seen when they tried to sail away from this island. There was a wall of white mist about ten miles off the coast. It was impenetrable. Every ship had been forced back towards land. In fact, that was how they had discovered that the land Camelot and all the other kingdoms were on was an island. There was nowhere to go but around.

She'd never seen the sea, but she could hear and smell and feel it. Hmmm. She opened her eyes. The blue egg filled her vision.

Freya put her head on one side. "Thalassa," she hissed.

The blue egg cracked and split. A little claw pushed up into the air. Freya watched, smiling, as a little aquamarine dragon hauled herself out of the egg and balanced on top of the empty shell.

'Hello, Thalassa,' she said in the dragon tongue. The newly hatched dragon wobbled precariously on her perch. She gripped the jagged edges of the shell in her tiny claws and flapped her translucent wings. A pair of eyes as black as the darkness under mountains gazed back at Freya.

Freya held out her cupped hands. Thalassa crawled off the eggshell and into Freya's arms. She was about the size of a big Chihuahua, weighed around twelve or thirteen pounds, and had warm dry skin that felt like slippery velvet. Freya cradled her close and felt the little dragon nestle into her.

She sat for a long time with the dragon in her arms. Neither of them spoke. There was no need to. They could both feel it, a bond between them stronger than words. It felt like a shared memory, a friendship that was old and new at the same time. They were kin.

When Freya finally went to sleep on her bed, she curled up like a cat with Thalassa in the middle of the circle, her head resting on Freya's side.

0000

When Freya woke up in the morning, Thalassa was fast asleep. She was warm, like a little heater, and smelled faintly of cinnamon, sweet and spicy at the same time. Freya cautiously got up. Thalassa opened her eyes and yawned cavernously, showing a row of minuscule blunt teeth. They had an orange tint to them.

'Food?' Thalassa said. Freya shrugged.

'Let's see what we can find you.'

She went out into the house, with the dragon perched on her shoulder. Hunith looked up.

"Where did that come from?"

"Her name's Thalassa, and she hatched last night," said Freya. 'And don't even think about eating the chickens,' she added in the dragon tongue, seeing Thalassa's eyes swivel towards the open door and the hens scratching in the garden outside.

'Why?'

'Because they are useful to us. Don't eat them.'

Thalassa snorted. 'What about the squeaky furry thing?'

'Where? You can't eat the cat either. He's big and white and -'

'I can see him in your mind. I mean the small squeaky brown thing.'

'Oh. That's a mouse. Yes, I suppose you can -'

Thalassa rose from her shoulder and flapped out the door, swooping down on a mouse in one corner of the garden. The hens began to squawk in panic.

"What is going on?" said Hunith. "Why were you hissing at it?"

"Her," Freya corrected. "That's the dragon language. It's what she understands. At least, I think she understands every language, but she can't speak any of them. I'll have to teach her that."

"She's certainly efficient," said Hunith, watching Thalassa disembowel the mouse.

"Yes," Freya agreed. "I just told her not to eat the hens."

"Will she obey?"

"I think so. I think she has to, because I'm a Dragonlord. She won't be able not to."

"And why exactly did you hatch her?"

"I - I don't know. It felt like it was time. I was dreaming, I think, and I kept seeing the sea, and the patterns on her shell were swirling, and it all just fit."

"What's her name?"

"Thalassa. It's something to do with the momentum and eternity of waves, I think. In the dragon tongue, I mean."

Thalassa finished the mouse and looked around curiously. She walked over to the log pile under the eaves and began to nibble at a twig that had fallen off one of the bigger logs. Freya smiled. Hunith looked at her, and her expression softened. There was a glow in the girl's eyes that she had never seen before, a look of peace and tenderness.

"Well, she's your responsibility. Take good care of her," she said.

Freya nodded. "Of course I will."

"Are you going to hatch the other one?"

"I don't think it's time yet."

"Hmm. What about the other dragons? Do you have to introduce them or will they know another one has been born?"

"I hadn't thought of that. I should probably . . . Where's Mordred?"

"He's already up and gone. We let you sleep. Wulfric wants volunteers to go and help people get out of Camelot. They're already forming groups."

Freya scowled. "I'm not going back."

"Is there something you want to talk about?" Hunith asked gently.

"N-no. I - It wouldn't do much good."

"It always helps to let the feelings out. No one can go through life and not feel a thing except for psychopaths, and you're not one."

"How do you know?"

Hunith reached out and touched Freya's arm. "You're wearing the bracelet again."

"So?"

"You've decided how you're going to live with it."

Freya sighed. "I made a friend there and he tried to kill me just because I am Morgana's granddaughter. There."

"That's awful."

"And I know I shouldn't care but I miss him. A lot. Every day. He was smart. He knew stuff. He'd be able to help with this this destiny thing," Freya went on, barely hearing Hunith's reply. "And it's not sappy and I wasn't his girlfriend. We were just - friends. But I've never met anyone like him. He was - gentle. And hard. Like chalk and flint, like Tiffany."

Thalassa finished chewing up the twig and flopped down, spreading her wings out in the sun. Freya swiped angrily at her cheeks.

"He even knew stuff about dragons. And then he saw my bracelet and he went all cold and he wouldn't read to me anymore or talk to me, really talk, and then everyone fell asleep except me and they came back and he said I'd done it and then he tried to kill me." She stopped. "I think I'll take her up to see the other dragons," she said in a small voice.

"You should eat something first," said Hunith. "You got in very late last night."

"I'm fine."

"Freya."

"Oh, all right." She had a hasty breakfast and then set out along the path to the mountain clearing where she had met Aithusa, Thalassa balancing once again on her shoulder.

0000

Blaze was uneasy around Thalassa at first, but by the time they reached the clearing he had calmed down somewhat. Freya dismounted and looked around vaguely. How would Aithusa know that she wanted to speak to him?

She sat down on a rock and let her mind reach out. Thalassa bounced around in the long grass at her feet, happily chasing grasshoppers. It was nearly summer now, and the days were long and warm.

There was a warning snort from Blaze. Freya looked up to see Aithusa dropping towards them from further up the mountain. That had been fast. She had only just reached his mind.

Aithusa landed in front of her and looked down inquiringly. Thalassa burst out of the grass, taking a flying leap, and landed in front of Freya. The little dragon's spines rose and she began to growl. Freya caught her, holding her back.

'Relax. This is Aithusa. He's a dragon too. Aithusa, this is Thalassa. She just hatched last night.'

'Yes. We felt her.' Aithusa lowered his head and sniffed at the blue dragon struggling furiously in Freya's arms. 'I will not harm her, hatchling.'

Thalassa's spines slowly sank down and she stopped trying to spit fire.

'Why can't she breathe fire?' Freya asked, releasing her grip.

'She is too young. It will come in time. Her magic will grow as well.'

Blaze stamped one hoof. Aithusa turned and looked at him. Blaze butted his head against the white dragon's chest. Aithusa nuzzled him.

'What are you doing?' Freya asked.

'Saying hello,' said Aithusa. 'We have met several times since I met you. We are friends.'

'Does he speak Dragon?'

'No, but we can understand each other well enough.'

Freya blinked and leaned back on the warm stone. 'So, what do I do now?'

'About what?'

'Stuff. Things. I have this great destiny and no one I talk to will help me. They just say "Oh, you'll manage" and don't even care that I'll have to -' She stopped abruptly.

'Yes?' Thalassa was chasing grasshoppers again, and Blaze was tearing at the long grass and watching her with just a hint of suspicion.

Freya took a deep breath. 'Go and murder someone I don't even know just because I'm "destined" to take his job! I don't want to kill him! I don't want to kill anyone! I know how it feels to die, and it's horrible! And when I Change I can feel my instincts telling me how easy it is, and I have to fight them because I know that if I let my body do the thinking my brain will never forgive itself.'

Aithusa made a soothing sound deep in his chest, like a purr but much deeper pitched. Freya's muscles relaxed involuntarily. 'Must you kill Emrys?'

'What do you mean?'

'I can smell that you are a shapechanger. But you will not have to face him in an animal body, will you? You can stay as you are. Must you kill him without question? Why can't you talk to him first?'

'I don't know! Everyone keeps saying that I'll know him when the time comes to kill him, and we'll have no choice but to fight.' She stopped. 'What would happen if I let him kill me?'

'Would you? Really? When you are fighting for your last breath, would you not try to defend yourself?'

'No.'

'You cannot know that for certain.'

'Well, I do,' Freya snapped. 'Someone tried to kill me. That's why I'm here, because they tried to bury me in a cave but I woke up and left. I could have broken him easily, but I didn't.' Her voice became more thoughtful. 'I didn't. I didn't even think about trying to. I - couldn't hurt him. Not even when he was scaring me.'

Aithusa was watching her with those achingly blue eyes.

'But never mind that. Do you know what's going on in Camelot?'

Aithusa nodded slowly. 'Oh yes. We can feel the doors between this part of the world and the rest of it opening much more frequently now. Are people coming through?'

'Yes. Soldiers. They're destroying homes and killing people. They're just on the outskirts of the kingdom now, and I think they're in other kingdoms, too. But not here. Something is keeping them away. I wish we knew exactly where they were. It would help a lot if we could mark where they are coming through on a map.'

'You will be able to see the doors from the air. They show as fractured space.'

'Really? I suppose you know a lot about them. How far do you fly?'

'As far as I like.'

'I mean, in a day. Do you stay close to home or do you cover a wide area? Because if you do, it would be very helpful if you could tell me where the soldiers are. Then I could tell Wulfric and the other Guardians and we could try to help stop them.' She looked up at Aithusa hopefully.

'I can do better than that. I can show you.'

'What? Like, you want me to ride you?'

'If you wish to. You do not look heavy.'

Freya bit her lip. 'I - I don't like heights,' she admitted. 'I get dizzy.'

Aithusa looked down at her gravely. 'I will not let you fall,' he promised. 'It is one of the privileges of a Dragonlord. No dragon will bear anyone who is not a brother or sister in the heart.'

'I - I - ' Freya hesitated. She had a vivid recollection of Tiffany's first experiences riding a broomstick. And a dragon was uncomfortably similar. True, Aithusa was bigger than a thin stick, and he had wings and would probably be easier to steer. And she was pretty sure that she wouldn't be sick. But - Oh, damn. It would be useful to see exactly where the doors were, and the pattern that the soldiers were moving in. There was one, she knew, but they hadn't been able to work it out from gossip.

'I suppose I could try,' she said unenthusiastically. She was sure that she heard a snigger from Blaze. "And you be quiet!" she said in Human.


	11. Chapter 11

She clung to Aithusa, her arms wrapped around one of the bigger spines on his back. She was sitting just behind his wings, between the spines. It was rather like riding a horse, one that had a sort of built in saddle and could move up and down as well as side to side.

She'd sent Blaze back home. Thalassa was clinging to the front of her shirt, her little claws retracted so that she gripped the fabric with her toes. She was looking out over the land below with every sign of enjoyment. Aithusa began to spiral slowly up. Freya swallowed hard. The way the dragon lurched up and down beneath her reminded her of the unpredictable way Steady had moved when she was learning to ride. And now there was no one to catch her if she fell.

'We are over Camelot now,' said Aithusa, his words blown back to her in the wind. 'Look down. You are safe. You will not fall.'

Freya leaned cautiously forward and looked down. A long way down. The forests and fields and villages lay beneath her like a map. It helped to think of it as a map. She'd always liked maps. Maps and blueprints. She was very good at those. She could even draw them, as long as there were no curves. Those messed her up, but no one could beat her at drawing straight lines and right angles. And she would not be sick.

'Where are we?' she asked.

'That is the road to Ealdor below us,' said Aithusa.

Freya tried to get her bearings. It took her a few minutes to work out where she was. 'Right. What are those funny patches that look hot?' In some places, the land was wavering like the horizon did when it was very hot.

'Those are the doors that are being used.'

'What? I can see about twenty of them from here!'

'Yes. There are many.'

Freya stared down intently as Aithusa soared easily through the sky just below the clouds. 'They're all in a sort of ring,' she said at last. 'All the doors are around the edge of the kingdom. There's only three that aren't in that line, and they split off into another line that points towards the castle.' She wasn't feeling as sick now that she had something to concentrate on.

'They are the newest ones,' said Aithusa. 'I was here a day ago. There were only two then.'

'They're heading towards the castle,' Freya mused. 'Well, I suppose it makes sense. But - I don't get how they're coming through. I thought the doors wouldn't open for anyone unless they had magic.'

'Doors can be opened from either side,' said Aithusa.

'Someone here is letting the soldiers in?' Freya said indignantly.

'I believe it is so. I have seen someone once standing in a doorway, and then it opened and soldiers came through.'

'Did you see who it was?'

'It was nighttime. I saw the light reflect off red hair. I think it was a woman.'

'That's all right then. She's dead. When did you see this?'

'About a month ago.'

'What? But that's impossible!'

'Why?'

'She died! I'm sure of it. I made it my business to find out.'

Aithusa turned back towards Ealdor. 'That is all there is to see. It could be dangerous to linger. I will take you home.'

Freya stared out over the dragon's white shoulder into the sky as he glided gently down in a long smooth slow swoop. Home. He couldn't take her home. She felt tears stinging her eyes and she closed them tightly. The dragons were the closest thing to a home that she had now. Thalassa had crawled inside her shirt and fallen asleep. She clung to Aithusa and felt the wind rushing over the top of her. She was sheltered from most of its force while she stayed low, but when she held her hand above her head the wind hit it like a hammer.

Aithusa landed lightly in the garden of Hunith's cottage and folded his wings, letting Freya slide down to the ground. Her legs felt weak. She leaned against him, noticing that his scales were more like armor than Thalassa's, and he smelled of chocolate.

"Aithusa!" said Mordred, coming out of his little house. Then he saw Freya. "Freya? Are you all right? What happened?"

"He gave me a ride. I could see the doors better from the air. It's all right. He's friendly." She pulled her belt tighter to keep Thalassa from falling out of her shirt.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh. She's asleep."

"Who?"

"Thalassa. I hatched her last night."

Mordred stared. You came and twined himself around Freya's legs.

'I should go,' said Aithusa. 'I will come at your call. You will need me. Do not hesitate to ask.'

'Thank you,' said Freya. She put her arms around his neck. She could just reach around it. 'Goodbye.'

There was a rush of air and the white dragon was gone.

"He used to be Morgana's," Mordred said dreamily. "You've inherited him?"

"Not really. Dragons don't belong to anyone. We are kin."

There was a sleepy snarl from her shirt and Thalassa poked her head out. She looked blankly at Mordred and then more malevolently at You. She hissed, scrambling up to Freya's shoulder and swishing her tail.

"And that's Thalassa?" said Mordred.

"Yes. Thalassa, this is Mordred. He's my friend."

You was looking up, interested. Thalassa spat at him. "Be nice to the cat," Freya scolded. Thalassa hopped off her shoulder and charged the big white cat, who ran away. Mordred laughed.

"He usually doesn't run from anything."

"I think she's hungry," Freya apologized. "I told her she couldn't eat him."

One of the plump black and white speckled hens had come up behind the little blue dragon and was eyeing her curiously with a one-sided gaze. Then it made a tentative peck at her twitching tail.

Thalassa screeched in alarm and jumped into Freya's arms. She was laughing so hard she could barely stand up. So was Mordred.

Later that evening, when they were all eating, You came into the house and up to the table with a big mouse hanging from his mouth. As Freya, Mordred, and Hunith watched, he laid it gently in front of Thalassa, who was sleeping in front of the fire.

"I hoped they would get along," said Mordred.

0000

Now Freya went everywhere with Thalassa flapping behind her or perched on her shoulder or, if she was in cat shape, riding on her back. It was a bit like having a toddler. Thalassa was inquisitive and experimental, ready to taste or claw anything. But she did not usually repeat anything Freya told her not to do. People got used to the little dragon and before long, she was barely noticed.

Wulfric was surprised but pleased at Freya's new abilities. He told her that it meant she didn't have to worry that she would not be able to fully take over from Emrys. That made her a little more miserable. She loved the dragons. There was no other word she could think of that expressed the right emotions. She felt that she could connect with them in a way no other living creature would ever be able to understand. Except possibly another Dragonlord.

The Guardians were quite taken with Thalassa. She had good ears and eyes and a superb sense of smell, and she was intelligent. And she could fly. They made her a little collar with a tiny spiral charm of her own. She was proud of it, and when Freya first put it on her she spent hours looking at it in a hand mirror.

She liked to sleep on Hunith's lap when she was knitting, and would play with You in the garden. They hunted for mice in the smithy together. Elyan and Lancelot would leave bowls of milk out for them. You always let Thalassa eat the mice they caught.

"I think he's sort of adopted her," said Mordred one day as he and Freya and Gwaine were sitting on his porch watching Thalassa and You bat a chicken feather around the garden. Thalassa's little leathery wings flapped as she tried to jump and twist like the cat could.

"I find them both in my bed sometimes," said Freya. "On rainy days. That's why I have cat hair all over my clothes now. Thanks a lot."

"Do you let her sleep with you still?"

Freya looked embarrassed. "It's not like she'll be small forever."

"I think it's pretty sweet," said Gwaine. "How are you getting on with the big one, what's his name? You go flying almost every day, don't you?"

"Wulfric asked me to. We have to know about the doors."

"His name's Aithusa," said Mordred at the same time. "Oh, sorry. Go on."

"No, you go on," said Freya, waving a hand.

"I was just going to say you probably met him when you were captured by Morgana. He hung out with her until she died," said Mordred. Gwaine looked startled.

"But her dragon was all twisted up. It had a limp."

"He said he used to be crippled. Apparently, there's one more dragon, a big one, older than anyone living now, that looked after him and healed him. It took him hundreds of years," said Freya. "I haven't met him. Aithusa says he doesn't want to see any human."

Gwaine shook his head as though to drive away the darkness. "She loved that dragon. What's been happening with the doors?" he asked.

"Two more have opened. They're still heading straight for the castle. And some of the ones further out have closed. I think someone on the Other Side is working with some idiot from here and trying to invade."

"Probably," Mordred agreed. He leapt to his feet.

"What?" Freya and Gwaine said together.

"Sorry! I promised Andrei I'd give him a hand with the reports. He'll be at headquarters by now." Mordred reached back inside the door and pulled his cloak off its hook. "I've got to go. Sorry!" He ran off.

Gwaine sighed. "He's so bloody conscientious. Nice boy, though, and a good knight."

"He is nice, isn't he?" Freya agreed. "I can't imagine him killing Arthur, but he did, and he worries about it a lot."

"I know. Poor kid. It wasn't really him. He was just a pawn. It wasn't his idea. But Morgana got hold of him and fed him lots of ideas about revenge and truth and destiny and he fell for it. Well, what do you expect? He was barely eighteen."

"I hate destiny!" said Freya, much more forcefully than she had meant to.

"Why?"

"I don't like being a pawn! I want some control over my life! I've never had any, do you know that? Never. It's always been other people who decide what I'm going to do."

"And how do you feel about them?"

Freya shrugged. "I don't know. I just wish they'd leave me alone and let me try to understand things."

"That's good, at least," said Gwaine in the tones of someone trying to talk someone else off the roof of a building. "No cravings for revenge or dreams of taking the throne?"

"No. What would I do if I was a queen? Although I could technically claim the throne of Camelot," she said thoughtfully. "Why are you looking like that?"

"Sorry. You can't blame me for being a bit jumpy. Morgana tortured me to death, you know."

"What?"

"Yep. With a Nathair."

Freya shuddered. "I learned about those. Wulfric says they can cause unbearable pain in the mind itself."

"I'd say that was right," Gwaine agreed.

"I'm not Morgana!"

"I know that, princess," he said gently. "I can feel it. She seemed warm and caring, but her heart was made of ice. You are cold on the surface, but you feel things, and you really do care." He sighed. "And I think that with the right people, you can show it."

"Maybe," she said coldly.

"Exactly how much do I annoy you? Enough for you to hate me?"

"What? No! Why? Do you want me to hate you?"

He smiled. "They say that hate is one step away from love."

Freya frowned. "Who does? That's stupid. How does that work?"

"Oh, I don't know, but it's worth a try,"

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to flirt with me? I thought I told you not to."

"No, I'm trying to work up the courage to propose to you."

"No," she said flatly.

"No?"

"No."

"Not ever? I do have many talents you may not know about."

"No. Sorry. Why do people keep wanting to marry me?"

"Eh? Who else wants to?" Gwaine looked genuinely startled, so she decided to answer.

"Well, not lots of people. But Percival did before he thought I died."

"Percival?"

"He's a knight."

"In Camelot? Of the Round Table? Big guy, hates sleeves, really strong?"

"That's him. Do you know him?"

"He was my best friend. He was there when I died," said Gwaine, for once looking honestly serious, his gaze far away. "He wasn't in time to save me. I hope he saved Arthur."

Freya hugged her knees and watched Thalassa pouncing on shadows. "Why do people keep wanting to marry me?" she said thoughtfully. "I don't want to be married. I've had enough with people telling me what to do."

"Well, you're pretty," said Gwaine. She threw a pebble at him.

"I'm not, and I know I'm not, so don't try that on me!" she snapped. "I look sort of like a fox and I'm too thin, and I know it! I can't help being skinny, all right? My family was poor and I barely got enough to eat until I started working as a Monitor when I was eight and by then there wasn't much I could do about it."

"Yes, like a vixen," Gwaine agreed. He stared at her. "You really don't see it?"

"No!"

He shook his head. "Well, I wasn't lying."

"But really! Is that all that matters, that a girl is pretty? If I chose a husband just on looks I'd probably end up married to something that for all practical purposes has the brains of an amoeba."

"No, that's not all, but it does help," he said frankly. "You're smart and tough and powerful. You're in the Pendragon family and have the support of most of the druids. You have influence. You're a catch."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm never going to marry anyone who has less power and influence than me. I don't want someone to love me for what I can give them. I want someone who loves me because they understand me."

"Someone will, princess. Someone already does."

"Who?"

"Me!"

She'd walked into that one, she knew. "No, Gwaine. Just no. It wouldn't really work and you know it."

He shrugged philosophically. "Oh well. It was worth a try. Gwen wouldn't have me either."


	12. Chapter 12

It was her turn for the border patrol the next day. She and Jenny were put together on the list. Both Jenny and Sophie had joined the Guardians. They were ideal candidates. Both of them were shapeshifters, and both of them were born soldiers.

"It's nice here," said Jenny as they rode along the track that ran parallel to the border all along its length. They were only responsible for about ten miles of it, the section closest to Ealdor.

"I know," said Freya. "How do you like all this?" She gestured to her spiral charm.

"It's good. We've never had any formal training in arms. This is helping a lot."

"What, never? But you know everything there is to know about fighting."

"We were born soldiers. Well, activated as soldiers." There was a fierce bitterness in Jenny's voice. "Sophie doesn't remember. They'd worked out how to wipe her mind by then. Don't tell her, ok?"

"Tell her what?" asked Freya, confused.

"Look, you know how you were picked up by the corporation as a little kid and put to work?"

Freya nodded.

"Well, so were the Doctor and Rose. Separately. They both got lost in the shuffle when their company went under, and met each other. Then the government found them."

"What government? There isn't one, not really. The companies collect the taxes and enforce the laws."

"Oh, there is a government. They use the corporations to keep everyone pacified. Like sheepdogs for sheep." Jenny smiled bitterly. "But even sheepdogs need fangs sometimes. So they got hold of Mum and Dad. They used them to make us."

"Huh? Who? I thought you were their nieces."

"No, we're their daughters, sort of. We were both cloned from the Doctor. And afterwards, to alleviate some of the weird side effects of that process, we each had some of Mum's genes put into us."

Freya looked thoughtful. "How did that even work? Like, that old story about the mad scientist who made a man from bits of other people?"

"Pretty much. They'd worked out a way of cloning a whole person from just one parent. The trouble was, the clone could end up being too much like the parent and then they'd get sick. So then they figured out how to use another person's genes to stabilize us. I don't know how it works. I don't want to know."

"Why couldn't they just - I mean, they're married, right? So why didn't the government just wait for you to be born the normal way?"

"That wasn't the point. They didn't just want one or two of us. How many kids can one couple have? The government wanted an army. My sister and I are the prototypes. That's why we went through school and had a fairly normal life. They wanted to see how their idea worked." Jenny stopped. "I remember the day I was activated. I was fully grown and ready for school. I remember them pulling the tubes out and taking off the mask." She scowled. "I fought them. After all, that's my purpose."

"I don't understand. Why did they want to create you?"

"Look, the Doctor is smart. Really smart. And he's devious and courageous and can be very likeable. Rose is much the same, but she is less concentrated, if you get me. They intended me and Sophie to be versions of them, to have all the qualities they wanted from them, but we were supposed to be completely subservient to the government. We were created to be living weapons. And then the government locked the Doctor and Rose up until we had a chance to grow up so they could make more of us, if we turned out to be a success. It didn't work. They escaped and then they came for us. We might not really be a family, but technically we are, and so they feel responsible for us."

"But Sophie doesn't know any of this?"

"I was the first experiment. She was the second. They'd worked out more of the flaws by then. She's a more even mix. I'm more like the Doctor. She doesn't remember anything before school. I remember it all. They implanted a cover story for her that said our parents were dead. I told her that our only relatives were an uncle and aunt once I realized what they'd done to her. I don't want her to know."

"Implanted? How?"

Jenny shrugged. "The government's who invented the portals. It's just a step further to put whole packages of information in people's heads without their consent. That's why we're so good with weapons and tactics. It's all been put in our heads, the combined knowledge of thousands of years of warfare. And we're both smart and practical because of what we've inherited. Sophie's more practical than I am, and she has a ruthless streak that I don't have."

"Really? Your nickname was Killer."

"But I don't like it when people suffer. Neither does the Doctor. If I have to fight, I will, but I'd rather talk. But Sophie - she . . . " Jenny hesitated. "If someone she loves is in danger she will bend time and space to save them, and she doesn't care about the aftermath. She scares me sometimes."

"I thought you said she had a more even personality," Freya objected. She knew what Jenny was talking about. She'd seen the incandescent fury in Sophie's eyes during fights, when she had been being badly beaten before Sophie turned up.

"I said she had a more even mix of genes. That means she got all the ruthlessness of the wolf. I escaped that."

"Oh."

"Those stupid scientists didn't know about that. They didn't know we are all shapeshifters. That was a bad mistake. That's how Mum and Dad got out, as wolves. And then they came for us and we got out like that too."

Freya could picture it in her mind. "I just ran, one day. I'd had enough and I couldn't bear it anymore. I didn't care if I made it or if I died. I didn't even know where I was going, really. Someone had contacted me and said there was a land without portals, but I didn't really believe them. And it was true." She absently rubbed her thigh. There was still a scar there from the bullet.

"We wanted freedom, and we knew it was here." Jenny looked a little dubious. "Dad says we aren't really human, any of us. He says there are other worlds out in the stars and we were meant to live on one of them. We all dream of them. One has mountains and deep forests where we hunt and run beneath endless stars, and the other has an orange sky and red grass blowing in the breeze and -"

"Trees with silver leaves," Freya finished. "And there are rivers, big slow ones, and silver streams, and deep dark caves veined with starlight in the other one, and a sea with white shores and seabirds calling in the sky. I've had those dreams too, ever since I was little."

Jenny stared at her. "And you remember when you were little? Are you sure?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Well, no one else has ever had those dreams. You could be another of our sisters. I mean, we were told there were only two of us, but they could have been lying."

Freya frowned. "But the druids know my family tree. It's all recorded, all the way back to Morgana. They even found out where the Dragonlord blood came from. Her son married the daughter of the last female Dragonlord."

Jenny looked at her thoughtfully. "You don't seem to be too much like us. Perhaps you're from another world too."

"Why should I be?"

"I don't know. It's just a feeling. You know how there are different species all sharing a planet in the Red Book?"

"Yes?"

"Well, maybe the same is true of this one. Maybe we all just looked the same but were different inside." Jenny shook her head fiercely. "I don't know. If I think about it for too long my brain goes mushy."

"We can't do anything about it, so it's not much use wondering," Freya said practically.

"But you mustn't tell Sophie about the cloning," said Jenny.

"I won't. I promise. Why did you tell me?"

"I suppose because I thought you'd like to know that you're not alone," Jenny answered slowly. "We are living weapons, too. That kind of thing is hard to bear sometimes, especially if you think you're alone."

"Destinies are awful," Freya agreed. "I don't care what Wulfric and everyone says. I'm not going to kill Emrys. It's - its's rude!"

"I don't think you've thought of all the variables," said Jenny worriedly.

"What do you mean?"

"He might not be able to do what you could have, but you can carry on doing everything he has. So, if you die at his hand instead of the other way round, maybe we'll just be conquered by the Other Side and history will be all torn apart." Jenny rubbed her forehead. "Please don't let him kill you. Just thinking about it gives me a headache. I'm good with timelines, and trust me, one without you in the future is a very bad idea."

0000

The summer came. More rumors of soldiers and raids came filtering through to Ealdor, but there were less and less of them. When Freya and Aithusa flew over Camelot, there were no more of the areas of wavering shadows that showed active doors.

Thalassa was growing bigger. She was too big to fit inside Freya's shirt now. She weighed about twenty pounds.

The fire-colored egg was still wrapped up in a blanket in the corner of Freya's room. She would pull the cover aside and look at it occasionally, running her hands over the smoothness of the shell and feeling the unborn dragon inside stirring in its sleep. But she could not summon the power to hatch it. She could not see what its name should be.

Freya had not seen a summer from outside a building since she was four years old. The days were so long, and so warm, and all the trees and plants were so green. She often prowled the forests with Sophie and Avelina at night, and the smells were nearly overwhelming. Heat itself had a scent, a mix of dust and vegetation and something she could not describe as a smell. It was more of a feeling, the openness of space and the touch of wet clothes billowing on a clothesline.

She was dreaming again. The bracelet seemed to help a little; at least it let her get some sleep. But the dream returned day after day, and this time it felt like a nightmare.

She was fighting in a crush of green-clad soldiers, back to back with someone else. It was her duty to keep him safe, to get him through the broken gate that hung open just ahead of them. At last she broke free of the horrible slowness that pinned her down and led the charge through, under the stone archway. She blocked the arrow storm that greeted them with a contemptuous raising of her hand.

After that, it was always a blur. She saw men and women lying dead on stones, and blood everywhere, even on herself. A shadowy figure ran away on top of a wall. A woman with hair like flame and a black gown so heavily embroidered with strange symbols that it was a miracle she could stand up in it was standing beside the throne in the Great Hall of Camelot. Someone, indistinct in a dark cloak, advanced into the middle of the hall. They stood with their head bowed. She heard someone screaming as the world turned inside out.

Then there was always the sound and smell of rain, and someone lying too still in her arms, and all around her warmth and the cinnamon and chocolate scent of Aithusa and Thalassa, and inside her emptiness and so much darkness that no light could ever burn in her again.

That was the only good fraction of the dream. Whatever awful thing was going to happen to her, at least the dragons would be with her. But who was dying, and why would she be holding them so tightly? She didn't hug people. It just wasn't her. And she certainly didn't hold people like that, so tightly and for so long.

Freya lay staring into the darkness. She brought her hand up and closed it around the little crystal rosebud. Think of the good times. Think back to when you felt safe.

Thalassa raised her head. She had been asleep on Freya's legs. Now she crawled up to the head of the bed and licked her cheek with a soft, dry, flickering tongue. Dragons didn't slobber. That was one nice thing about them. They might accidentally set your sheets on fire while they worked things out, but they didn't leave slime anywhere. Freya stroked the sensitive patch behind Thalassa's ears.

'What would you do if you had to choose between me and Emrys?' she asked.

Thalassa blinked slowly. 'I do not know.'

'Me neither.'

'He cannot command you. You are his equal.'

Freya stared up at the dark ceiling. 'But it will be such a waste. I could learn so much from him. I know I could,' she said despondently. 'And I'm getting worse about the killing. I know that there are bad men in the world. I know that when I have to fight, it's me or them, sometimes, and I have to bite before they can stab. But it's - it's - I was sick the last time. I can't stand the smell of blood.'

'Why must you kill the bandits and mercenaries who seek to invade us in cat shape? Why not stay human? Use your bow.'

'The other Guardians rely on me to use my talents to catch the ones who get away. No one else can sit up in a tree and drop down on people in a snarling ball of fur. They need me to be cat shape for the surprise. I've saved their lives before because I wasn't human.'

Thalassa shrugged. Her wings rustled. 'Use stronger mouthwash.'

Freya sighed. 'I wish I was a dragon. You don't get hung up wondering who will miss your victims, and what they could have done and been if they'd lived.'

'I take the view that if someone is running at you screaming and waving a sword, they started it and any injuries they get are their own fault,' said Thalassa firmly. 'So should you. You are gentle. You don't go looking to hurt people. Just kill them quickly before they harm others.'

'But do I have the right to end someone else's life?' Freya said miserably. There was a short silence.

'This isn't about hired thugs, is it? This is about Emrys. And my advice to you is, wait and see. You don't know the circumstances you'll be fighting in. Wait and see,' said Thalassa.

'I keep dreaming that someone is going to die,' Freya said quietly. 'And when they do, part of me dies with them. The part that hopes and feels and dreams. And I just keep going on like - like a machine, doing what I need to to keep Albion running, until someone else comes along and the darkness comes back and there is nothing, and I can rest. I don't want that to happen.'

'Who dies?' Thalassa asked, purring softly. She could sense the misery rising up in Freya's mind and heart.

'I don't know!' the girl almost wailed, but in a whisper. 'I don't know who it is. That's what's so awful. I can't protect them. I can't stop it. I just sit there holding them and they get colder and colder. Nothing I can do will save them. I'm supposed to be so powerful and I can do nothing to save the only person I really would die for.'

'But you don't know who? Who do you love the most?'

'I don't know! I like Avelina and Jenny, and the rest of the Guardians are nice. I would miss Sophie a lot if she died, but I don't think I would go that far. Mordred is - I feel safe with him. He's a bit like - like a friend I had once. I'd be sad if Hunith died, but I would be more likely to hunt down her killer than just . . . stop. Stop thinking, and feeling, and trying to be friendly.'

Thalassa licked Freya's cheek again. Freya was crying. 'I think you know, but you cannot see who it is.'

'Just because you're a dragon doesn't mean you have to talk in riddles all the time.' Freya turned over onto her side. 'I don't think I'm meant to hatch that egg. I think Emrys is.'

'Why?'

'It feels right. We do it together.' And somehow, in a way she could not identify, that thought let a tiny ray of light into the darkness she was facing.


	13. Chapter 13

One of Hunith's friends was sitting with her in the seats under the eaves when Freya got up the next morning. She vaguely recognized him. She'd seen him around, and sometimes left parcels of herbs at his cottage on the other side of the town. He was a doctor. His name was Gaius. It was a little embarrassing; everyone knew her, even people from the little villages up in the mountains, but she only knew about half Ealdor by sight. She knew every animal, though. She liked animals. They were more honest than people.

"You haven't been sleeping well, so I asked Gaius to make you something to help you sleep," said Hunith, looking closely at Freya as she sat down in the sun.

Freya could feel the old man's eyes on her. She turned her head slightly. His sharp gaze was fixed on her bracelet.

"Have you been having nightmares?" he asked.

"Yes."

"The same one?"

"Pretty much."

"Hmm."

"The bracelet helps a bit. I'm more powerful than she was. It doesn't block them."

Gaius looked surprised. "How do you know that?"

Freya shrugged halfheartedly. "I used to dream about her. That's how I know what not to do." That was a bit of a lie. Actually, she'd used her crystal rose to look back on Morgana's life. But she had had nightmares about some of the things she'd seen.

Gaius held out a little glass bottle to her. She took it. It was full of a dark liquid, and sealed up with wax in exactly the same way Merlin had taught her to do. She rubbed a finger slowly across the seal. Thalassa came padding up and sniffed at it.

"That's your dragon?" he asked.

"Her name is Thalassa," said Hunith. "She's a good girl."

"It's certainly . . . different, keeping a dragon in the house like any other creature." Gaius sighed. "Intelligent beings, dragons, but they used to be kept chained up in caves."

"Big caves with lots of stairs and doors going down from the cellars, and a chain thicker than me," Freya said absently, still turning the bottle over and over in her hands. "It broke apart in blue flames when I set him loose. I had to steal a sword from the enchanted knights to cut it."

"What?" Gaius's voice was sharp. It jerked her abruptly from her daydream.

"Sorry."

"What did you say?"

"I - er . . . just, stuff, you know? Like, bits of old stories or something. In my head. Like, like memories I don't remember getting. Mostly just knowledge. Wulfric says it's all stuff Emrys knows. I'm taking over from him," Freya stammered. "I can't help it."

The stare Gaius was giving her was unnerving her.

"I never remember anything too personal. It's not as weird as it sounds."

"Good." He turned away from her. She escaped back into the house. She'd never had a conversation with him before, just nodded to him in passing. Why had he stared at her like that?

0000

The medicine helped a little. She could sleep just about every other night now. On the nights she could not, she often got up and went out into the fields outside the village and called for Aithusa. The two of them would float high above the mountains and forests, watching over the land.

Freya was starting to like flying now. She could keep her balance as Aithusa rose and dropped, and even had stood up on his back a few times. Now she lay stretched out on his back between his wings, her head between his ears, her arms around his neck. She'd discovered that that was the most comfortable position for both of them on long flights. His scales were rough enough for her to grip with her knees, and she didn't get in the way of his wings.

She rested her cheek on his warm skin and looked down. The little groups of lights and fires below her looked just like the sky, like constellations. It was a warm dark night, filled with the billowing wind. Aithusa flapped his wings and spiraled higher on a column of warm air. They could see the towers of the castle on the horizon.

'Haven't we come too far?' she asked.

'We are safe. No one can see us.'

'I suppose not. But - what's that?'

Aithusa turned to look. There was someone else up here with them, a shadow flying just below the clouds. They hadn't been there a second before. The air around them shimmered and wavered. They heard a voice.

"Crivens!"

"Quiet! What happened?"

"Dinna ask me, mistress."

"Hello?" Freya called.

"Er - hello?" came a reply. "Could you tell us where we are, please?"

"About three hundred feet above Camelot."

"What? I thought that was from a story! Is that a dragon?"

"Yes. It's - it's - look, what's your name?"

The shadowy figure drifted a little closer. "Tiffany. Um - I think something really weird has happened."

"Tiffany Aching?"

"Yes! Do I know you?"

"I don't think so. I'm Freya."

"Freya Pendragon?"

"I could be," Freya said cautiously. "He hasn't acknowledged me yet. Arthur, I mean."

"What? I thought you were married to his brother!"

Now they had come close enough to see each other. Tiffany was a girl of about Freya's age, wearing green and blue, a very thick dark brown cloak, and a pointy hat. She was riding a broomstick. A small figure was jumping up and down on the bristles, making it rock perilously.

Broomstick and dragon drifted on side by side, slowly coming closer to each other.

"He doesn't have a brother," Freya said absently. "Is that a Nac Mac Feegle?"

The little blue man bowed. "Rob Anybody, mistress. How do ye ken who I am?"

"You're in a book. Just a story. I don't understand - "

"But you're in a book, too," said Tiffany. "Roland gave it to me as a wedding present. You're amazing!"

"Er. Thanks. So are you. How you dealt with the Wintersmith - that was pretty awesome."

"I know what's happened noo," said Rob Anybody. "We've slipped sideways. It's like the crawstep, but easier this way for bigjobs." He sat down on the bristles.

"What?" said Tiffany.

Freya pointed behind them, to where the sky was broken and trembling like heat waves. "A door to your world must have opened up in the sky. Sorry about that."

"It's nae a problem," said the Feegle cheerfully. "We Feegles has the knowing all about that kinda stuff, mistress."

"I know."

"Look, if I'm in a book," said Tiffany slowly. "How far have you read?"

"Well - " Freya hesitated. She thought she knew what Tiffany was getting at. If they'd each read the other's story, they could know something of the other's future. Perhaps the stories already knew what would happen. "Has the old Baron gone yet?"

"Yes. And I met the Cunning Man."

"That's as far as I've gotten. I can't find the next book."

As far as Freya could tell in the moonlight, Tiffany looked disappointed. "Oh. I wish - but maybe it's for the best. It's always nerve-racking knowing your own future."

"Mmm. How far have you read for me?"

"I - look. This is dangerous. I think I've read ahead. You ask me a question."

"All right. Do I know Emrys?"

A strange expression crossed Tiffany's face. "Shut up, Rob," she said quickly. "Yes."

"I do?"

"Aye, mistress. He's -"

"I said shut up!" Tiffany scolded. "Yes, you do."

"Do I have to kill him?"

"Well - he - you - look, that's a touchy question."

"Tiffany, please. I need help. You should know that," Freya said desperately.

"No. You don't. Your task isn't to take his place. That's just something that happens on the way. I think everyone around you is losing sight of that. First Sight. You have it, Freya. You just don't use it. You really need it. What is it you need to do to protect your steading?"

"Mistress," said Rob Anybody. He'd stopped fidgeting and was looking behind them.

"I don't know! I'm so confused!" said Freya. "I want to protect my people, not kill them!"

"Good. So what threatens them? It's more than just everyday stupidity. There is a real threat. Like the Elf Queen," Tiffany prompted.

"The doors?"

"Right! The Other Side. It's trying to engulf you, but that won't work the way they're trying it. You need to become part of it. Only once this world is put back together can it solve its problems."

"Mistress! I ken this is verra important hag business, but the doors are closing!"

"Put back together?" Freya said slowly.

"Oh, drat. Look, you think this land splintered off from the outside world. It didn't. It just moved around a bit in space. There are four dimensions and from outside this place, time looks like width. You're still where you started, but you're in a tiny space, like - " Tiffany saw Freya's blank look. She sighed. "Look, it's like wrinkles in a wet shirt. If you don't unfold it before you wash it, dirt gets stuck in them. But you don't see the dirt until you spread it out, and then suddenly there are areas of shirt you couldn't see before but were there all along."

"I think I understand. We're still where we were before we went to sleep, just a lot thinner. So I need to expand the land again?"

"Yes! Basically. Mind you, it won't be easy. An entire island got folded in. Two entire islands, actually. That's a lot of power. When you get back to where you're supposed to be, you'll still be islands, by the way, so you don't have to worry about being in the middle of another country. Remember Brittania from that book about the soldier? That's this land."

"Oh!"

"What is it?" Tiffany said impatiently, turning to Rob Anybody, who was jumping up and down.

"Yon door's closing, mistress!"

Tiffany and Freya both turned to look at the patch of sky where she had broken through from her world. There was only a faint shimmer left.

"Go!" said Freya. "Quick! I'll try to hold it open."

Tiffany nodded. She steered her broomstick up close enough to reach out and take Freya's hand. Freya felt something cold and metallic in her palm. She opened her hand.

"You can't give me this!"

"You will need it more than me. Wear it and think of me, and remember that our lands are in our bones. We have a duty, Freya. You have kept me going through these last few months."

"Then take this." Freya yanked at her collar, wrenching the crystal rosebud off of it. Then she held out the collar, the silver spiral still gleaming in the moonlight. Tiffany took it.

"Thank you. I will keep it always." She smiled, drawing further away. "And if you find a door, don't hesitate to drop in for a cup of tea!"

"I won't! And thank you!" Freya called, tucking both trinkets into her jacket pocket. Then she closed her eyes, bending all her strength and will to keep the door open. The weight of it was like a landslide.

'She has gone,' said Aithusa. Freya let the door slam shut and collapsed full length on his back. Her searching fingers found the little trinket in her pocket and closed tightly over it.

"When I'm old, I shall wear midnight," she said, looking up at the stars. She felt the darkness flow over her like a blanket, and fell back into it as it rose up and surrounded her.

0000

Aithusa landed in the garden and waited for Freya to slide off his back. She was limp and unmoving. He twisted his head around to look at her.

Mordred was woken up by Thalassa standing on his chest and licking his face. She was whimpering. He followed her down the ladder and out into the garden. Freya was lying on the ground, sheltered by Aithusa's wings. He knelt beside her.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Elf Queen," Aithusa said painstakingly. He was slowly learning to speak Human. "Doors. On fire."

"She saw them and tried to close them?"

"No. After. I saw." Aithusa's vocabulary was not large enough to say much else.

Mordred gently tried to unclasp Freya's fingers. They were clenched tightly around something. He picked her up and carried her into the house. Hunith was just coming to the door.

"I heard Thalassa crying -" she began, and then saw Freya. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," said Mordred. "She's out cold. And I can't get her to open her hand."

They laid her on her bed and covered her with the blanket. Thalassa jumped up and curled up by her side. Hunith put her hand on the girl's cheek.

"She doesn't feel sick." She turned away and looked on the table beside the bed, frowning. "Her collar's gone."

Mordred went through the pockets of Freya's jacket. They'd taken it off of her before putting her to bed. He held the crystal rosebud and turned it over in his fingers. "She took it off in a hurry. Look, the ring that snapped into the chain is bent. And she's got something in her hand." He put the flower down carefully on the table and pried at her fingers again.

Freya's hand uncurled. On her palm was a little silver necklace, the representation of the spirit of a horse.

"How did she get that?" Mordred asked blankly.

Hunith glanced at him. "You recognize it?"

"It looks like the necklace from the Tiffany Aching books."

Freya's head turned slightly. When she spoke, her voice seemed different - more resonant and edged. "And remember, you promised me. You'll give me time to get him out and you won't hunt him." There was a pause. "If you do, I'll kill you. I will. I'd do anything to keep him safe. I don't care how many lives it costs. There's been enough deaths already. One more won't matter to me."

"That doesn't sound like her," Hunith whispered. Mordred nodded, frowning. He was turning his head from side to side. He stuck a finger in his ear and twisted it.

"Is that noise in my head?" he asked.

"Hurry up then," Freya said. "I have to be back by the time the alarm goes."

Mordred dropped to his knees, shaking his head. Freya screamed, thrashing around and tumbling off the bed onto the floor. Hunith looked helplessly at them.

"Mordred! Are you all right? What's happening?"

He looked up, his face white. "Didn't you feel it? It felt like everything turned inside out, just for a second."

"I didn't feel anything." Hunith was looking at Freya now. The girl opened her eyes blearily. Then she sat up abruptly.

"Did she get back before they came through?"

"Who?"

"Tiffany! I hope she -" Freya looked down at the little silver horse twinkling in the candlelight. She smiled. "So it wasn't a dream, and somewhere all stories are true." She slipped the chain through the ring of her crystal and fastened it all around her neck. "While I am young, I will wear starlight."

"You met Tiffany Aching?" Mordred said in disbelief.

"Yes. She fell through a door that opened suddenly in the sky. I had to hold it open long enough for her to go back home. It was heavy." Her face clouded. "And it opened because someone somewhere here just ripped a hole in space and time that was nearly big enough to make this world fit back into place again. And something came through. Something big. You all know the damage wandering bands of a dozen men have done. This time, it's an army." She stood up unsteadily. "They're going to Camelot. There will be a battle."

"You were talking in your sleep, but it didn't sound like you," Hunith said anxiously, looking into her eyes. "Are you sure you're normal?"

Freya nodded. "I felt his mind for a moment. That's how I know what happened. He was there. He helped open the door. That woman couldn't have done it alone. She doesn't have the strength or the power."

"Do you mean Emrys?"

Mordred looked up sharply. He was still pale. "That fits with what you said," he muttered. "He'd never do anything to hurt Arthur. He saw the invasion coming and thought this was the best way to deal with it."

"You know who Emrys is?" Hunith asked, surprised.

"I have always known."

Freya looked at him expectantly. "Tell me where to find him. I need to know now. He's just betrayed Camelot to the Other Side."

Mordred's face went deadpan. "I can't."

"I need to know! That's an order, Mordred." Freya's voice was ice.

"No."

"Tell me now."

"It isn't time for you to know. I cannot tell you now. But I will go with you when you find him," he added.

She glared at him.

"Shouldn't we be telling Wulfric about this?" Hunith suggested. Mordred and Freya were trying to stare each other down. That could go on for hours.

"Yes," Freya said at last.

"I should think everyone in the world felt that door open," Mordred said coldly. "But he needs to know where the blow will fall first."

As the two of them hurried out into the night, the first notes of the warning bell began to sound, tolling out the signal for all druids to gather in the Cave for an emergency meeting.


	14. Chapter 14

It was just called the Cave. It was big, and had a soft echo, and it was circular. Pillars of rock held up the ceiling. They'd been carved for generations and now looked like lace. Torches burned in holders all along the walls, and candles burned in hundreds of lanterns overhead. They could have lit the Cave by magic, but that was showy and took a lot of effort. Candles were easier.

Wulfric was standing on the dais in the center of the Cave. It was just a lump of rock with steps. It had been carved, too, more deeply than the pillars. He was telling the assembled druids the news. As late arrivals came in, they were told what had been discussed already by the Guardians, who each stood by a pillar, their hoods pulled over their faces and their silver spirals gleaming on their dark clothes.

Freya stood in the shadow of the pillar nearest the dais, Thalassa sitting at her feet. That was her place; it was the place where advisors and wise ones had always stood. She watched the crowd from under her hood. Her fingers dug into the carvings of the stone. Something bad was coming. She could feel it. The candles made the room hot and the air above them wavered like the doors.

She put her hand to her throat and touched the silver horse. Just below it, her fingertips caressed the smooth, shaped surface of her flower. Merlin and Tiffany. Two people who she would have liked to have at her side, who could not possibly be there, but who were so real to her that she felt as if she could reach out and take their hands. She relaxed a little.

"It's all right, kelda. You needn't do anything right away." When had Mordred come up behind her? She hadn't noticed him come. But there he was, a darker shape in the shadows around her.

"Why?"

"Do you know what to do?"

"Save Arthur?"

"But Emrys will do that. He'll get him away from the battle. Trust me. I know he will. The day Emrys abandons Arthur, the world will stop spinning. You have to be ready to help Arthur take back Camelot with as little bloodshed as possible. That is where you will come up against Emrys. That is when you'll conflict."

"But if he loves Arthur, why did he betray him?"

"Because he loves him. It's better to bend than break in a storm. He bargained with the Other Side. They can have the kingdom if he keeps the king. You see, he doesn't care about the people anymore. He only cares for Arthur. You need to help him recover his balance."

"How do you know so much about them?"

"I cannot tell you, Freya. I just can't." Mordred put a hand on her shoulder. "Did you have any other friends in Camelot besides the sisters?"

"Alice was kind to me. She's a healer. I don't think they'd hurt her. And the King and Queen were - I came to like them as people. And there was my other friend."

"Yes, the one you won't talk about. Did you love him very much?" There was a sympathy in Mordred's voice that Freya did not understand. It made her uneasy.

"No," she snapped. "What does love feel like? I don't know, so how can I answer that?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what, exactly?"

"For what is going to happen. You're not the only one who dreams."

Freya reached up and fleetingly touched his hand. "Will you come with me when I go with Arthur?"

"Of course. He is my king too."

0000

Nothing much happened for the next few weeks. It was high summer. The villagers and most of the druids kept on tending the crops. The only sign of uneasiness was the doubled guard on the Camelot border and the groups of scouts constantly coming and going from Ealdor.

Some of them had been as far as the castle. They had reported seeing activity as usual. Nothing seemed to have changed. That sounded all right. But there was something wrong in the air, as one of them put it. It had felt like one of those nightmares where everything is quite normal up until the point where your furniture tries to swallow you whole. They felt eyes watching them.

Freya, Morded, Andrei, and Avelina were on guard duty together at the one border fort left from the days of Cenred. It was a stone tower, carefully repaired by the druids to give the appearance of decay while being structurally sound. It stood beside and over the old road into the kingdom. There was a gate, but it was always left open, and a high wall extending out on either side for several miles, thoughtfully embellished under Wulfric's direction with sharpened spikes, broken glass, and shifting stones.

They dozed on the top floor of the tower in the shade. The guards were on four-hour shifts. It wasn't a tough assignment. Someone had to be reasonably alert and keep and eye in the road, but no one usually used it except bandits. They always let those go through, and then rode out to intercept them further along the road. It was a good way of predicting where they would enter their lands. It was the only place where the bandits weren't attacked as soon as they set foot over the border.

Thalassa was watching the road for them right now, while Avelina and Mordred slept and Freya and Andrei played dice. It was a boring game, but she'd scratched a rudimentary board on a stone with her dagger and now they were playing Snakes and Ladders. Andrei was winning. Freya was too cautious of a player.

Thalassa hissed, sounding like a splash of water in a hot pan. Freya looked up.

'What is it?'

The blue dragon's tail was twitching. 'I hear the sound of metal, and the beat of horses.'

Andrei climbed up the ruins of an archway and carefully absorbed the scents blowing in from Camelot. "I smell horses and fear," he announced. Freya nodded.

"She hears horses and men." She prodded Avelina in the ribs. "Wake up! Action!"

"I wasn't really sleeping," Avelina yawned, stretching lazily. She nudged Mordred, who sat up, blinking.

They all pulled their cloaks around themselves in spite of the heat and stood in the plentiful hiding places offered by the crumbling stones. It was a long time before there was anything to see.

The first people to come into view around the bend in the road were a few knights on horseback, riding with unsheathed weapons. Their horses were dusty and stumbling with weariness, but the knights were urging them on at a gallop.

"They're from Camelot," Mordred said quietly.

"They don't have a standard," Andrei said.

"I recognize the way they're riding. All knights learn it there."

Then there was a straggling group of people, mostly soldiers, though there were a few people among them without armor. Everyone was on horseback. At the rear were riding a few more knights.

"There's Arthur," said Freya, and then was surprised that she wasn't surprised. Well, she'd been expecting something more or less like this to happen for weeks. And there was the Queen, riding beside him, and - oh, that didn't look good. Percival had one arm in a rough bandage, heavily bloodstained. Freya was dimly aware of her fellow Guardians talking around her. She scanned the uneven crowd for a particular person. Well, it was hard to tell who was who in that mess, wasn't it? Everyone was jostling around so much, and the light was in her eyes. He'd be there, somewhere around Arthur. It was a certainty.

And then what? What did she say? "Well, you bastard, look. I'm not dead and I'm a really powerful druid now, and yes, I know Morgana was my grandmother and I'm learning from her mistakes and I'm not going to go insane and I really, really, missed you and can we just go home, please?" She wasn't sure about the suitability of that. It started out well, but it had lost a little of its righteous indignation by the end.

"Freya!"

She started. "Sorry, what?"

"Come help us close the gate!" said Avelina. "Now is no time for daydreaming. It may be a time for some impressive displays of power," she added, looking worried.

"Why?"

Avelina pointed, wordlessly. Freya turned. Close behind the fleeing people was a wall of green-clad soldiers on horses. True, they weren't riding very well, but they had guns and their horses looked fresher. It would be a massacre. She ran with Avelina to the ropes that worked the wheels to close the heavy gate and portcullis.

The first knights rode through and leapt off their horses, looking around for a way to close the gate. Someone - probably Andrei - had already closed and locked the only door into the guard tower. The only way to close the gate was from inside. The knights hammered helplessly on the derelict-looking door.

"When I say to, you girls get that gate shut as quick as possible!" Andrei ordered.

"Quickly," Freya murmured. She always had a terrible urge to correct people's grammar, especially when she was trying not to think, and now she was trying not to think of Merlin bleeding to death somewhere in the forest, shot down by a soldier from the Other Side.

"Now!" Andrei shouted. Freya and Avelina yanked on the ropes, feeling the skin on their palms redden with the friction. The thick iron gate slammed shut on the heels of the rearguard. The bullets rattled against it a second later but could not pierce it. Then the mesh of the portcullis came down and the soldiers had to nearly fall over backwards to avoid it as they slid to a stop.

"Now what?" Avelina whispered. Down below, on one side of the gate, the refugees from Camelot were milling around uncertainly, the knights forming up in a defensive pattern that would be totally useless against guns. On the other side, the soldiers were reloading for another volley.

"They might hit something important after a while," said Freya. "Here. Stay down." She stood up and walked to the edge of the parapet. As one man, the soldiers turned to look at up her, a little cloaked figure against the bright sky.

"Go home!" she commanded, her voice low and intense. "No one came this way. You don't know where the King has gone. Go home. This is an order."

The soldiers were frozen, still staring. She closed her eyes, feeling her mind nearly snapping in two with the effort. Then something rose up inside her like a tide, a sense of shock and outrage and anger. It poured up from the ground and down from the sky, and she suddenly understood what Tiffany had meant when she said that her land was in her bones. She could feel it supporting her, speaking through her. I speak for those who have no voice. "Get out. This land is mine." She felt the words form a growl more menacing than any wolf could ever utter.

The soldiers turned away, remounted, and rode away. Freya would have fallen over if Avelina had not caught her. She felt hollow inside. The strength that had flooded through her was gone now. It had been so intense. Her head was spinning.

"That was amazing! What did you do?"

"I told them to go away," Freya muttered.

"But you didn't say a word!"

"I think I put words in their heads. Things the land knows. Fears that everyone has. Those soldiers won't come back."

"That's amazing!" Avelina said again. "I bet even Emrys couldn't do that."

Freya shrugged. "You'd better go talk to them. You know what Wulfric said."

Avelina nodded, gently set Freya on her feet, and ran off with Andrei. Wulfric had issued stern orders. Neither she nor Mordred were to make themselves known to anyone from Camelot without his presence. He'd said it would avoid misunderstandings. Freya thought there was more to it that he wasn't saying.

0000

Mordred was already leading Stian and Blaze through the thick trees to one side of the road. Freya ran after him, occasionally falling over as her knees gave out. Mordred helped her up.

"You look awful. What happened?"

"I don't know. It was weird. I felt like something was using me."

"Does it hurt?"

"No. I just feel like I'm going to throw up."

"Well -"

"I'll be fine." Freya tried to climb up to Blaze's back and fell again. Mordred picked her up and set her on the horse.

"I know we should hurry and tell Wulfric what's happened, but would you mind if we just watched for a few minutes? They won't be leaving until Andrei talks to Arthur. I just want to -" He frowned, looking suddenly a little uncertain.

"Yeah," Freya agreed. "Me too." She forced herself to sit up a little more. Blaze turned his head and looked at her, worried.

Mordred gave her a grateful look. "I wonder what he'll do when I have to meet him again," he said nervously. "He'll probably want to execute me. I wouldn't blame him."

"No. I won't let him."

"It's only what I deserve, Freya."

"Shut up." She peered through the curtain of foliage at the refugees. Andrei and Avelina were off to one side, talking to the King and Queen. Freya frowned. Even though she felt exhausted and was in no mood to be observant, it struck her that something odd was happening. The Queen was doing most of the talking, only occasionally looking to Arthur for approval or instruction. And she looked at him strangely, almost as if he were a child or someone who was very ill. Freya looked more attentively at him. He was staring at the ground or at his hands, and there was an indefinable shadow in his face.

"Do you think he's wounded?" Mordred asked.

"I think it's in his head," Freya answered slowly. "He isn't sitting like anything hurts too much."

"I don't see Merlin."

Freya scanned the crowd again, more desperately this time. She saw Alice, and the Doctor and Rose, and Sir Leon, and more people she recognized, but Merlin was not there. "But where is he?" she said.

Mordred looked up at her, intrigued by the worry in her voice. "I think he's probably still in Camelot."

"But he always follows Arthur. He wouldn't - do you think he's dead?"

"No. Not dead." Mordred put a hand on Blaze's bridle. "I'm coming up behind you. You're in no state to ride alone."

"I'm fine," Freya grumbled. "It's too hot to ride double," she protested as Mordred took the reins from her hands and held her snugly in one arm. She was asleep in five minutes.


	15. Chapter 15

She woke up on a low bed in Wulfric's study. He was sitting on the other side of the room.

"Freya. You're awake."

She squinted at him.

"I must tell you what has happened. Are you ready to listen?"

"If I must."

He handed her a glass of water. "Here. Avelina said you displayed an impressive ability to control minds at the gate."

Freya winced. She could still feel the raw power flowing into her from the sky and the earth, filling her up like she was a mold and speaking through her, using her voice. "It was nothing," she said weakly. "What's happened? Is Arthur here yet?"

"He arrived an hour ago. He and his subjects are being given shelter and medicine. We have an informal agreement. In about an hour, he will come to see me with what remains of his council, and we shall make a formal treaty. You must be there. Anonymously."

"Why?"

"For reasons you yourself have already stated." Wulfric smiled at her. "We all know your power. We respect you. But you were a servant to Arthur. It will be easier for you to direct him and gain his respect if he sees you doing great things before he knows your identity. So you must wear your cloak while he is present, and do not speak with your voice. Someone will speak for you if you tell them what to say. And I have this." He held out a piece of black cloth. It was a mask.

"You seriously want me to wear that?"

"Yes. It may be going too far, but you must be cautious. And that also means that he and his party must not see you in the town as you were known before."

"My hair's longer and I wear Guardian clothes now," she said thoughtfully.

"That's not enough. I will try to give him lodgings on the opposite side of the town. But you must be very careful. Mordred and your fellow shapeshifters will help you. Perhaps you should only be seem abroad in the streets as a wolf until we know more about what he needs to reclaim his throne." Wulfric saw her scowl and laid a hand on her arm. "I want to keep you safe, child. I want to help you. The path ahead will not be easy for you.''

She sighed. "I know. Thank you, Wulfric. I'll wear the mask and stay out of sight."

0000

At least it was cool in the Cave. It would have been stifling to wear the cloak and mask anywhere outside. Freya sat down nervously and looked around through the slits in the cloth. Wulfric had tweaked the hood far over her face and pinned the cloak close around her, but not so close as to be unable to distort her shape.

He had had seats brought in and arranged them in a small circle. There was to be no sitting on the dais for him or his advisors. It would be disrespectful. Freya shifted uneasily in her seat. It felt wrong to be sitting, even in the seat pulled back slightly from the others, after spending so much time in this room standing in the friendly shadow of her pillar. She cast a longing glance at it.

Andrei was sitting just slightly in front and to her right. He was to be her voice. She would tell him telepathically what she wanted to say, and he would say it for her. She didn't know why Wulfric had insisted on this precaution. Would Arthur or Gwen or anyone from Camelot recognize her voice after so long, after being sure that she was dead? And the echoes in the Cave made everyone sound a little strange.

There was the sound of footsteps and Arthur and Guinevere came in, flanked by knights. Wulfric was escorting them along with several Guardians. Freya recognized Mordred among them, his hood pulled down firmly over his face. Gwaine was there, too. She and Andrei stood up as the others filed in.

Everyone sat down. Some of the knights left the room at a nod from Arthur. So did some of the druids. Two knights remained on guard by the door. So did Mordred and Gwaine. Neither of them looked happy about that, and Freya wondered if it was by Wulfric's orders.

There were only a few people in the circle. There was Arthur and Gwen, and Leon and Percival, all representing Camelot. For the druids, there was Wulfric, and the two other senior men who shared his responsibilities, and Freya and Andrei. That was all.

Things moved slowly at first. The two sides exchanged cautious and formal greetings and expressions of mutual goodwill. Freya was frankly bored. She watched Arthur. He still had a hollow look in his eyes. She didn't like it. What had happened to make him look like that?

"And do you know the name of the sorceress who opened the door and led the army, my lord?" Wulfric asked.

"Her name is Melisende. She is - was - the wife of one of my most trusted and capable knights. She murdered him. We think . . . That is, we suspect she used him to form the link between our worlds somehow. Her daughter and son tried something like this last autumn. Their plan failed. Her son escaped alone. Her daughter died," Arthur said haltingly.

"We don't know of anyone of that name," said one of the druids. "She never came into contact with us."

Andrei held up a hand. It was the agreed signal that he was speaking for Freya. "If she's anything like her daughter, she wasn't powerful enough to open the door for more than a few men. She had to have had help."

Wulfric nodded. "Yes. Did you know if she had a more powerful accomplice?"

Arthur stared at the ground. Gwen looked quickly at him and then spoke. "Who is he?" She gestured to Andrei.

"He is speaking for that person," said Wulfric, indicating Freya. "And that person is the most powerful sorcerer on this earth. He is destined to help you regain your kingdom."

Gwen was gazing at her curiously. In fact, all the people from Camelot were, except for Arthur. "Why does he need someone to speak for him?" she asked. "I mean no disrespect."

"He is not yet ready, my lady. He is here as an advisor, a councillor, a mediator, if you like. He is neutral."

She nodded. "He is right about Melisende. She did have help. Unfortunately - she corrupted - the person who helped her was -" Gwen looked fleetingly at Arthur, who was still staring at the floor. "In fact, her accomplice was possibly the one person that had our absolute trust. He opened the town gates for the soldiers. We both saw him. And he helped the sorceress open the door to the Other Side, we think. Together they could have managed it."

Wulfric nodded gently. "Who was he? Where is he now?"

"Still in the castle, I suppose. We don't know why he did it. We were sure he -" The Queen broke off. Her hands were clasped tightly together in her lap.

"What is his name?"

Arthur looked up. "He was my friend," he said angrily. Gwen put a hand on his arm.

"Sire, these people are trying to help us. They want you to retake the castle," said Leon reasonably. "They need to know." He looked at Wulfric. "The traitor was the King's servant Merlin, sir."

"That's ridiculous!" All their head turned as Gwaine came striding angrily into the circle, throwing back his hood. "Merlin's not a traitor! He'd rather die than betray you."

Arthur looked up, shocked. "Gwaine?"

"If Merlin turned against you without being out of his head, then - then -" Gwaine was lost for words.

"But you died," Percival said slowly. Gwaine turned to him.

"Oh, hey! I didn't see you there." He grinned. "Yep, one minute dead, the next alive again. Looks like someone thinks Camelot needs me." He shook hands happily with Percival and turned back to Arthur. "But Merlin a traitor? He fought wyverns for you. He saved your life dozens of times. I won't believe it unless I see him kill you with my own eyes."

"It's true, Gwaine," Guinevere said slowly. "All of us saw him knock out the guards and open the gates."

"But why?"

"There's only one reason we can think of. He has magic. We think that concealing it has sent him mad. Like it did to Morgana."

"Well, whose fault is it that he had to keep it secret? Anyway, I should have thought it was pretty obvious. Sire," Gwaine added in a belated attempt to be somewhat conciliatory.

"I know," said Arthur, almost inaudibly. "I thought he trusted me. I thought I knew him. I was so wrong."

Freya was glad of the cloak. She felt numb. Merlin opened the door? Merlin let the soldiers in? But that had to mean that he was -

She looked desperately at Mordred. He hadn't moved from his post by the door, but he was watching her. He nodded slightly. She heard his voice in her head.

Yes. Merlin is Emrys.

There was a pause. She shut her eyes tightly.

I am sorry. I thought you had some idea of it.

Go away! she screamed. She felt Andrei flinch.

Sorry, Andrei. Not you.

She brought her hands up under the voluminous cloak and drove her fists into her eyes and bit down hard on the fabric of her shirt cuffs to make no sound. She was falling, drifting in a hopeless darkness. She had been for most of her life, but now the tiny beacon of hope - that had once been her dream of finding her parents and over the last few months had somehow been replaced by finding Merlin again - had gone out. It was gone forever. It had to be.

Now she really felt sick. There was nothing left for her. No hope. No future. Just the awful, scary, bloody business of getting Arthur back to his throne and then keeping him there. Alone. She'd have to kill her friend. She'd have to watch the only person she had ever really and totally felt safe with die. It had been bad enough when she thought she would have to murder someone she didn't know. Now she would gladly have killed a total stranger.

You could move back to Camelot. You could take over his rooms. He won't need them. And that's what you want, isn't it? That is technically what you mean by home.

But it's not! the majority of her thoughts screamed. That's not what we meant! We meant - you know perfectly well what we meant. We're not going to be like Morgana now, are we?

Her trembling fingers clutched at her crystal flower. She'd find a way around it. Maybe she could just pretend to kill him and then help him hide somewhere. Maybe she could send him a note and he could run. Maybe she could just kill herself first, with the power meant to destroy him.

She could hear the rain and feel the cold dead weight of him in her arms, and feel the ice forming in her heart. She blinked. Her crystal was showing her her future, in tiny, clear, bright pictures.

I wish I had died when he poisoned me. I wish I hadn't run away. I wish those guards who chased me through the door had shot straight. I wish none of this had happened.


	16. Chapter 16

"Freya?" Hunith was standing in the door of her room, sunlight streaming in behind her.

Freya turned her head and looked at her blankly. "Yes?"

Hunith came in and sat beside her on the bed. "What happened last night? Can you tell me anything?"

Freya shook her head.

"You'll always have a home here. Even after you get Arthur back on his throne. If you feel like coming back, I will wait for you."

"I won't be coming back."

"Why not?"

"I just won't. I don't believe in destiny. Arthur will have to look after himself once he gets his kingdom back."

Hunith put her arm around Freya. "You're not going to die. You'll defeat Emrys."

"Yes. And then I will kill myself."

"Why?"

"Because I just want to go home. That's all I've ever wanted. And now I can't. Ever."

Hunith said nothing for while. She just stroked Freya's hair. Then she said, "You mustn't let how things look now make you too unhappy."

"Why not? They're not going to change."

"They might. My son thought he would never have a true friend, and he found one eventually."

"Really?"

"Yes. And it was Arthur. Sometimes your life can change in the strangest ways. He may have only been his servant, but he was always by Arthur's side."

A curious sensation began to tingle in Freya's spine. It was cold and slightly electric. "How do you know he died at Camlann?"

"He never came back to see me after that. He must have died."

Freya shut her eyes. "What was his name?" she said, dreading the answer.

"Merlin. Why?"

"I - I don't think you'll want me back after I - " She could not stop the tears this time. "I'm sorry! I don't want to! I'll try anything else to try not to!"

"What do you mean? What's wrong?"

"Let me." Mordred was standing beside them. He jerked his head towards the door. "Please, mum. This is hard for all of us."

Hunith went out, looking upset and confused. Mordred knelt beside the bed and gently patted Freya's shoulder. She had curled up in a little ball.

"Personal isn't the same as important. Haven't you learned that yet?"

"That's nonsense."

"It's true, though. I learned that from a book. And it's still true. That was my problem when I killed Arthur. I let personal feelings for an individual cloud my thinking, and it didn't help anything in the long run. Kara's still dead, and I just feel guilty about betraying my king. I should have taken the time to try and examine everything that had happened."

Mordred looked at Freya. Her eyes were closed and her fingers were closed around the blankets, scrunching them up into little wads.

"Look. How do you know you're going to end up killing him? He's the friend you think about all the time but won't talk about, isn't he?"

Freya gave an infinitesimal nod.

"That's unusual in your situation. He didn't know Nimueh. She didn't know her predecessor. But you and he have a friendship already. Guardians don't have to fight each other. It's just always turned out that way. Perhaps it's time to move on. There are no more priests and priestesses. We don't sacrifice people just to get the emotional energy to do difficult spells. We've found other ways. How do you know you're going to kill him? Because from what I've seen of you, you don't hate Arthur. You like him. You want him to be King. You and Emrys are on the same side."

"I saw it. I keep seeing it. Everyone says I must."

"To hell with them. You're the one in control, Freya. Yes, we are ruled by the triumvirate, but you are special. You're not above direction, but you can bend the rules much more than anyone else can. You have the power to not only disobey a direct order, but to contradict their decisions. You just need to supply proof. And you're good at that. You naturally think in terms of logic and evidence."

"But I saw it. I know the future," Freya whispered.

"Do you?"

"It's in the crystals!"

" 'The Mirror is dangerous as a guide of deeds.' Remember? You know a future. It doesn't have to be the future. You're not paying attention to the articles."

The quote was like a slap. Behind Freya's eyes there was candlelight and softness and the scent of herbs. The pages of the Book glowed, the illustrations shining like jewels, but not as bright as his eyes as he explained the concept of alternative timelines to her.

"Don't you remember what Galadriel said when she showed Frodo the Mirror? It was a help but not a guide. He couldn't rely on it. It could only give him hints as to what might happen."

"Yes. I remember."

"Then stop agonizing over something that has, when you really look at it, a pretty fair chance of not happening at all, and start planning how to get Arthur back to Camelot and defeat the Other Side."

"Why do you think he would join me? I'm taking his place."

"Look. I know Emrys. I don't think he let the soldiers in because he wants revenge or anything else. I think he let them in because, that way, he could control them just a little. He wasn't strong enough to defeat the menace: well, then, join it and steer it away from Arthur. You had a link with him the night the door opened and I heard some of what he was saying. He's only trying to save Arthur."

"But the soldiers would have shot him at the gate if we hadn't been there."

"It's always harder than it looks to make bad people do good things. He probably didn't know the refugees were being hunted."

"But the people! All those deaths. How could he do that?" Freya turned over and looked up at Mordred. Her eyes, the color of a waves in a winter storm, were blank with horror.

"He's forgotten that personal isn't the same as important. Just like you. Just like me. He cares too much for Arthur, and so he's forgotten that his responsibility is to keep the kingdom safe, not just the king. You could teach him that. He needs you to be logical and ruthless, and you need him to teach you to care for people. Both of you have faults that the other person can correct."

"You really think I won't have to kill him? But it feels so real."

"I don't know anything for certain. But why is my opinion less valid than that of 'the people'? Right and wrong are not negotiable, and there are always consequences for every action, but sometimes right and wrong are so intertwined that 'the people' cheer on atrocities in the name of justice."

"You're right," Freya said slowly. She sat up. "It's so stupid that Wulfric doesn't want me to just be myself. If I could just explain things to Arthur -"

"No," Mordred interrupted. "That's one thing I completely agree with him on. We druids all know you by now. We'll follow you. But the people from Camelot expect a mysterious old man dressed all in black with a magic staff and a long beard." He surveyed her critically. "Pity about the beard, and it wouldn't hurt if you were a foot taller. No one expects a powerful sorceress to be five foot one. Well, no one expected a powerful sorcerer to be a teenage boy."

"What are you talking about?" Freya asked, half amused and half confused.

"Boffo! That's what Wulfric is giving you in the eyes of everyone from Camelot, even if he doesn't realize it, and you need all of it you can get. If we lived on the Disc, I'd advise you to send off for the whole catalog, but since we don't, you'll have to make do with the cloak and the mask. And Thalassa can help. She can follow you around and I suppose she's still just small enough to ride on your back."

"You're not serious. They'll never follow someone if they don't even know what they look like!"

"They will. Most people aren't like you, Freya. They like emotional manipulation. You hate it, but most of humanity gobbles it up and asks for more. Use it! It's your best advantage. And just think of the reaction when you take off the disguise after your victory and you are young and beautiful and a woman. People love that kind of story. If you're the author, you're not drifting and out of control."

"I suppose," she said slowly. "Like how Annagramma uses the green mask to keep her villagers under control after she realizes that they won't listen to her unless she scares them?"

"Yes. Exactly! Be the stereotypical mysterious druid."

She shrugged apathetically, but Mordred could see a spark of inspiration in her eyes. "What about you?" she asked. "Are you going to make yourself known to Arthur?"

A troubled look came into his face, making him look much older. "I don't know."

"Then you can be part of my Boffo."

"How do you mean?"

"Get yourself another cloak and mask setup, and oh, I don't know, some impressive weapon. A sword or something. Then you go everywhere with me as a sort of bodyguard-servant-interpreter. We'll keep the thing with me never speaking. That should give people the creeps. And I don't think anyone would recognize your voice, would they? Arthur'll be even more sure that you're dead than he is about me."

Mordred looked at her in awe. "That is a really good idea," he said. "I know I'm safe. Everyone here is sworn to secrecy about both of us. I'll see what I can do. And I have a bit of Boffo I can give you right now. It'll fit you better than me. Wait here."

He darted out of the room. Freya sat in the middle of her bed, hugging her knees. She'd show them. She didn't have to obey her stupid destiny. She'd save Merlin from those awful people from the Other Side, and then together they would drive them away and push Camelot back through the dimensions into the world. And then Albion would be formed. She could see it unrolling like a scroll in her mind. It would work.

She could go home. She would be safe. Someone would actually want her there.

A tiny flicker of hope was burning again in the blackness of her mind.

Mordred came back, holding a staff with a blue crystal at the top. He grinned. "Actually, this fits nicely. I . . . obtained it while I was a knight, in the castle. I don't know whose it was, but I found it hidden in an storeroom. I'm pretty sure it was a Sidhe staff. As such, it's powerful."

Freya took it. "What does it do?"

"Not much, really. It just focuses your power into a single stream, much more concentrated than even you could manage on your own. As a weapon, I think it's like a laser. It's good for fighting fairies and other magical creatures, not so much for mortals. But it looks impressive."

She had to admit that was true. It was made of dark wood, elaborately carved, especially near the top, where a bright blue stone shaped like a pointed oval was held in a cage carved to resemble branches. It was just about the right size for her, too. She turned it over in her hands. It had a leather strap tied around it, just like a walking stick would. She frowned.

"What does this mean?"

Mordred looked a little nervous. "It says 'To hold life and death in your hands'. That's what the Sidhe are mostly concerned with." He brightened up. "Still, I think it's very appropriate. Think of Miss Treason's skulls. But this is dangerous. It's not all show."

Freya nodded, still turning it over. She looked confused. "I've seen this before. I used it - but I couldn't have! I can't remember. It must have been a dream." She looked up and smiled. "Thank you, Mordred. I think it will be useful."


	17. Chapter 17

He'd managed to find another black cloak and mask within a few hours, and also a pair of black boots for each of them. Freya looked at Mordred.

"It looks pretty scary," she said, putting her head on one side. "I like how you have the knives."

Mordred had gotten another dagger from somewhere and now had one on each side of him. Normally, Guardians only carried one. He looked thoughtfully at them. "I think I could get Lancelot to make me a pair. Maybe with flashy silver handles. They'd still be functional, and I could rub soot on them for when I need to go out in the forest."

"That's a good idea. What about me? Should I have a weapon?"

Mordred shook his head. "No. Definitely not. Just carry the staff. You want to look so powerful that you don't need a weapon." He adjusted the set of the cloak over her shoulders, and frowned. He tapped her on the back. "What are you wearing underneath?"

"My armor. Just the loose tunic part of the chain mail. Not the corset thing. I have it on under my shirt. I was thinking, it might be useful, and it would scare people who touch me, wouldn't it? You don't expect someone to have hard skin, and the fabric disguises the feel of the metal."

"That's a good idea," Mordred approved. He flung back his hood and removed his mask, dangling it from one finger. "How do you feel?"

She shrugged, removing her own mask. "It still all seems a bit counterintuitive to me. I wouldn't trust someone who wore a black cloak and a mask."

"It's an act. People love that kind of thing."

"But I'm supposed to be doing stuff! Protecting people. Helping the King make decisions. I'm not supposed to be putting on a show."

"That's how you have to start. Make people laugh. Make them underestimate you, because then it's easier to get in close for the death blow."

"But - It makes no sense!" Freya almost wailed.

Mordred sighed impatiently. "Freya. You're seventeen. You're a foreigner. You're a female. You were a servant. No one - I mean this - no one will give you the respect and attention you deserve and need to get your job done if they see the real you. You have to work from the shadows. Did Merlin teach you nothing while you were with him? That's how he has lived his whole life. He's a master at pulling strings from off the stage. He had the entire kingdom in his hands because he was so good at playing his part. He still would if he hadn't let his emotions get in his way."

"What did he pretend to be?"

"Stupid. And it worked. No one noticed him after a while - they just listened. It won't work for you, because you need Arthur to trust you right away. So you have to be mysterious."

"Nice outfit," said a lazy voice from the doorway. Freya and Mordred turned. Gwaine was leaning against the doorpost of the little house. He smiled. "Is that all for Arthur's benefit?"

"Yes," said Mordred. "I'm her interpreter, and she's a wise old man."

Gwaine looked at Freya. She glared at him, and saw the laugh die on his lips.

"Thank you," she said icily. "I don't like it."

"I think it's the best idea, though," he said, more seriously. He turned his head. "Here come the other boys. Do you two have time to talk now?"

"I think so. We don't have anything else to do this afternoon," said Mordred, looking a little surprised. He took off his cloak and hung it on a hook on the wall. "Who's coming?"

"Lancelot and Elyan. We wanted to talk."

They all sat out on the porch of Mordred's little house. Lancelot was the first to break the silence.

"We were wondering what to do about Arthur. And Merlin. I agree with Gwaine. He wouldn't betray his friends."

"What can we do?" Mordred said gloomily.

"We can go with the King when he invades Camelot," said Elyan. "But we aren't sure if we'll be more useful as knights or as members of the druid army."

"The what?" Freya asked.

"Haven't you heard?"

"No. We've been - busy."

"Oh, well, we've agreed to march with Arthur when he goes to retake the castle," said Gwaine. "I thought you'd know."

"Who's we?"

"All of the druids. And all the ordinary people who live here. Everyone who can fight and is willing to do so."

"The question is, do you want us to let Arthur and Gwen know that we aren't dead, or do you think we should stay out of sight?" Elyan asked, looking directly at Freya.

"I don't know," she said, startled. "Why should I tell you?"

"It's your job," said Lancelot. "You protect the King. We protect you. What do you want us to do?"

She stared at the gaps between the worn planks. "Well, Gwaine's already blown it."

He shrugged. "It won't matter much. But Elyan here is Gwen's brother."

"Really?" Freya was startled. So that was where the elusive familiarity that had been irritating her about the smith had come from. Elyan nodded gently.

"And I died ages before the rest of you," said Lancelot. "Before Arthur was even King."

"You think your revealing yourselves would be a distraction," said Freya flatly.

Both men nodded.

"Well, then, don't."

"All right," said Elyan. He smiled. Lancelot nodded again.

"Why did I have to tell you that?"

Mordred nudged her. "You're their witch," he hissed. "It's your job."

She was still confused, but she let it pass. "Is he leaving soon, then?" she asked.

"I thought you knew," Gwaine began.

"We don't. Either of us. So start at the beginning," Freya snapped. Sometimes Gwaine really, really annoyed her.

"The triumvirate and Arthur drew up a treaty which said he and his people can stay for at least four months, we'll give them food and housing, and go with them to fight. In return, Arthur will pay us back when he has his throne again and he'll recognize us as a kingdom," Lancelot said concisely as Gwaine opened his mouth.

"What he said," Gwaine agreed.

Freya thought this over. What had Wulfric been thinking? He was giving away a lot for not much return, it seemed to her. It was one thing to recognize that your neighbors were worth being on diplomatic terms with, but quite another to agree to stop hunting them down if they crossed the border. And that issue hadn't even been in the treaty?

Oh, of course. He expected her to do it. That was why they'd agreed to be Arthur's mercenaries. Wulfric thought that she would make better terms afterwards. That was like cheating, wasn't it? Not the best way to start a new friendship. And would Arthur want to repeal the ban on magic now that Merlin had turned against him (apparently)? She added a few more layers of doubt to that last thought. She still couldn't believe that Merlin, her gentle Merlin, would deliberately let innocent people be hurt. Yes, he'd tried to kill her, but it was all because he was trying to protect other people. And before that, he'd been so kind. He'd found books for her. He'd read to her. He'd taken the time to listen to her and to teach her things that she was interested in, not just things she needed to know. There had to be a mistake somewhere.

"What's wrong?" They were all staring at her. She scowled.

"That's a horrible treaty."

"It is a little unbalanced for us," Lancelot admitted cautiously.

"No! It's all on our side," Freya hissed. "You know what's going to happen? The triumvirate is sure that by the time Arthur has his kingdom again, I'll be his most trusted advisor. And then, they can get - through me! - anything they want from him. It doesn't matter how little they ask back from him now. By the end, he'll practically have sold his soul to them." Her eyes were blazing. "I won't have it. They might not be doing it entirely on purpose, but I know it's somewhere in the back of their minds."

"Surely not," said Lancelot after a moment's pause. "That's not honorable."

"Druids aren't honorable," Freya said crossly. "We're sneaky and treacherous and dangerous. Everyone knows that. I wonder how the stereotype got started?" she asked with savage innocence.

"They're not like that really," Elyan protested. "They're good people."

"Then why are they being sneaky about this?"

"Over-cautious," Mordred amended. They all looked at him. "I see their point. They're scared of Arthur. They don't want to be involved with him more than they can help, and they don't want him to know much about us."

"You really think that's why -" Freya began.

"Yes. They want you to be in good standing with him. They'll do everything they can to get you there. And then, eventually, you'll bring us freedom. I think you're giving them the wrong motives. They're not trying to be deceptive. They're desperate."


	18. Chapter 18

The summer turned into autumn. The forest blazed with dozens of hues of red and gold. The days were noticeably shorter and the nights were cold and clear. And still the refugees from Camelot stayed in the little village they had built for themselves on the outskirts of Ealdor and showed no signs of leaving, though their four months were nearly over.

Freya and Mordred were a common sight now in their disguises. They often walked or rode through the village, and the people would nod respectfully to them and look more confident after they had passed. Sometimes, they would even go up to the caves and ask for her, and Wulfric would have to send for her. The people who wanted to talk to her were almost always druids, anxious for the settling of disputes with their fellow druids. It made Freya laugh sometimes as she sat on the steps of the dais in the Cave and listened to their cases, her black cloak pulled close around her and her staff across her lap. Mordred stood in her place in the shadow of the pillar and spoke for her, and that seemed to be the most effective bit of trickery of it all.

And the people listened when she spoke, as they never had before. They'd treated her with respect, and with deference, but there had always been an air of 'how will the girl turn out' about them. But now that she was anonymous and mute, a shadow stalking through the village in the twilight, identifiable only by her staff and her bracelet, they placed complete confidence in her. Mordred was also getting a fair share of the aura. He was always at her side, with the spiral pin Elyan had made for him on his shoulder so people knew who he was. Freya gave up on trying to understand it after a while. She administered justice, as far as she was capable of, and tried to be fair and impartial and clearheaded.

She was beginning to worry about Arthur. He spent his days in the little cottage that had been built for him, or training in the open ground outside the village with his knights. But he didn't look happy. Always, behind his eyes, there was a closed door, and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

Well, he was a refugee in a kingdom ruled and populated by a people for whom he had inherited a mistrust and fear. That couldn't be comfortable. And he had been betrayed by his friend. Freya could understand. She'd grown up fearing everyone around her. She knew too much about betrayal. I just wish that I could talk to him, she thought. As myself. He's polite and attentive when he talks to me as a druid, but I don't think he really likes me. Why should he? I'm in disguise. This is so twisted. He's my uncle! I should be able to talk to him.

Yeah, like you could talk to your father. So much for the caring video conferences. He was using you. Why wouldn't Arthur do the same? You mean nothing to him. He doesn't need you.

"Oh, shut up," she growled. She sat on her bed and stared at the fiery dragon egg. It was beautiful, but it wasn't hers. Not like Thalassa and Aithusa were. They were like the sea and the rain and the snow, and she could understand them. But this dragon - its mind was different, warm and intense. There were too many emotions inside it, too much empathy. It didn't resonate with her like Thalassa had. Aithusa might be sunlight, but it was the remote, clear, frozen light of the pale sun in a winter sky. This embryo dragon was the lazy heat of deep summer.

There was to be a council later in the night. It was very druidical to hold a gathering at moonrise, even though it would be in a cave and would be dark at any time. Freya touched the silver horse, and thought of Tiffany. Noonlight. Anyone could be special in the dark, but it took something else to be a hero in the full light of day. If it wasn't for the horse on its silver chain, she would have thought that the encounter with Tiffany had just been a dream, or one of those alternate futures she sometimes saw in her crystal.

She sighed, and got dressed, and collected Thalassa and Mordred, and walked up to the caves, her small entourage following a pace behind her as usual. They met the King and Queen at the entrance to the forest track, and he nodded and smiled and let them go first. Leon and Percival were their only escort. I wonder what Percival would say if he knew that the servant girl he thought he loved was me? Freya thought. What would he say? What would he do? But it's no use. I turned him down and knew I wouldn't be completely happy with him before, and I shouldn't change my mind now just because I'm lonely and scared and miles out of my depth.

That thought slipped past her careful guard before she could stop it. It was true, of course, and that was why it stung so much. She had no idea what to do. She didn't even know exactly what the 'destiny' everyone kept telling her she had was. Everyone had their own idea. She didn't believe that she had one at all. Certainly not one that involved killing Merlin.

The council sat in nearly the same circle that they had formed in the first meeting they'd had when Arthur had arrived. Freya sat beside Mordred now, Thalassa at her feet, and there were no guards in the room. That was the only difference.

Arthur had been planning. He would like to start off to retake his kingdom in a week. He knew that his people would be ready by then. Would the druids? It wouldn't do to put it off much longer; the storms would begin.

Wulfric agreed. They could certainly be ready. If the King agreed, scouts could leave that very night to examine in more detail the situation in Camelot. They'd been keeping a casual watch on it, so as not to excite suspicion, but more information could certainly be useful.

Arthur agreed, with many thanks. And then there was a tense little silence.

"With all due respect, we would like to know what plan you have made to assist us," Guinevere said politely, looking directly at Freya. She was one of the few people who actually looked at and spoke to her, instead of to Mordred. It made just that little extra spark of guilt scar Freya's mind every time. Gwen treated her like a human.

"I will protect you when you go into battle. My dragons will assist you. I will deal with the sorceress," she answered through Mordred. His calm voice gave no hint of the nervousness he must have felt in her mind. She wanted to hug him. If she had had to speak, the only thing that would have come out was an inarticulate grunt.

"That sounds . . . good," said Gwen. "And of course, we will give you any assistance necessary. And any compensation for your services."

"I want nothing. Only justice, and freedom for my kind. There is no evil in sorcery, only in the hearts of men. We are not all the same. Some of us are good and some are bad. It is the same with ordinary men." Mordred had picked up on her sudden fury. He nearly spat the words at the Queen.

Arthur looked up sharply. Wulfric raised a hand hurriedly. "I'm sure no disrespect was intended, my lord. The issue is a delicate one -"

"No, my lord. I am not angry." Arthur was gazing at her now, not Mordred, and there was a faraway look in his eyes. "Someone once said almost exactly the same to me. I should have listened them. I will listen now." He got up and held out his hand to her. "There will be peace between my people and yours. I give you my word."

Freya put out her hand and touched his, relieved that Mordred had thought to have her wear gloves, and that her bracelet was on her other arm.

"I will be there, like I always will be, protecting you." For a moment, she thought that her voice echoed inside her own head, as if she was only repeating words someone else had said before.

"Why do you care so much?" Arthur asked, still grasping her hand. She shrugged.

"Someone has to speak for those who have no voice. I do not 'care', as you say it. Not with my heart. But with my head I see what must be done, and understand that I am the only person in a good position to do it."

He let go of her hand, but still stood there, looking startled and a little shocked.

"Yes, I am cold. But this land needs ice. It has been cared for long enough, cared for too much. 'Personal is not the same as important'."

"Why not?"

"Emotions obscure facts. Facts cause emotions. It doesn't work the other way round. When you get facts from emotions, then you get chaos. You are betrayed."

Arthur slowly went back to his seat. "I don't think that would work in life, but it would work in government," he said. "I will remember."

"Thank you."

"There is one favor I ask of you," he went on. "You believe it is your duty to battle all the sorcerers who have stolen my kingdom?"

"Yes." She knew where this was going.

"I ask you not to harm Merlin. Let me deal with him."

"My lord, that may not be possible," one of the triumvirate said before Freya could form a coherent thought. "He is the most powerful sorcerer in all the lands, with one exception." He bowed to Freya. "They will have to duel. He cannot die by any another hand."

"What?" said Arthur.

"What will you do with him?" Freya asked softly through Mordred.

"Well -" Arthur hesitated. He's in the same difficulties as me, she realized. He can't bear the thought of Merlin being dead, much less dead on his orders, but he knows the laws. He's stuck, like me.

"Shall we judge him together?" she offered. "He is your friend, but he is like me. We both have an interest. Let it be a sign of the peace we hope to form."

She could sense the relief in Arthur's mind as he grabbed for this postponement of the inevitable. "Yes! I agree. That is a good idea."

0000

Freya was packing to leave. The invasion force was starting at dawn for Camelot. They hoped to be some miles over the border by nightfall. She was not looking forward to it. What was the point of going to bed just to get up again at a time when all decent people should be sleeping?

She finished emptying the contents of her clothes chest into the saddlebags and looked around for anything she had missed. She didn't have much in the first place. She never had, even on the Other Side. The things in her head had always been more precious to her than the tangible things she possessed.

"So you're not coming back?" Hunith was standing in the doorway, looking at her sadly.

Freya straightened up and managed to make eye contact with her. It felt strange, confrontational, rude. But she knew that often people thought you were rude if you didn't invade their space. It was yet another thing about people that she couldn't understand. "I will come back."

"What about Emrys?"

Freya forced herself to hold the gaze. "I won't kill him. I won't kill anyone. This world needs less death."

"Freya, what if he wants to fight you? What will you do? We need you to protect us."

"Yes. But not from him."

"How can you be so sure? No one is ever wholly good. There is evil in everyone."

Freya looked away. "I know."

Hunith came a few steps into the room and looked around. It was nearly as bare as when Freya had come. The only mark she had left was the vermilion and golden dragon egg, still nestled in its blankets. "Are you going to take it?" she asked.

Freya shook her head. "No. May I leave it here?"

"Of course. Does that mean you'll be back?"

"Yes. Someday. I will come back. Yes, I will come back."

Hunith looked at her curiously. "You were so upset when the King came. What makes you think differently now?"

Freya pointed at the egg. "Her. She's not mine. She's warm, like the summer, and I am winter. I know she will be born - I can feel her. Don't ask me how. But I know she exists, so some things must turn out right."

"You'll come back for her?"

"And for you." Freya was twisting the hem of her shirt in her fingers, something she always did when she was nervous or stressed. "I will bring you something."

"You don't have to -"

"Something precious," Freya went on. "Something you lost. I will come back with it or not at all. I promise."

Hunith stared at her.


	19. Chapter 19

The army glided through the forest in small groups. It was a skill the druids had learned and honed for many generations: the art of moving large groups of people silently and unseen. Each small band had its own path. The shapeshifters acted as scouts and messengers between the groups, keeping them all moving in the same direction.

Freya was very glad that there were eight of them now. If it had been just her and Mordred and Andrei and Avelina, they would have been overwhelmed. As it was, they were merely exhausted. Even with Aithusa ready to help any of them cover the longest distances, and Thalassa keeping watch on the nearer groups for them, it was still hard work.

They all sat around a little fire deep in the darkness of the trees. They didn't really need it, since all of them but Andrei and Sophie were in animal form, but it had rained earlier in the day and it was a little luxury.

Freya lay curled up lazily next to Jenny. Mordred sat like an enormous furry boulder across from them. Rose and Avelina were sitting next to each other and were nearly identical to look at except for their eyes: Avelina had blue eyes, Rose had brown. The Doctor was on guard. He was currently in bear shape, just like Mordred. He had no prejudices against any form, although he said that being a cat made his paws itch after a while. It was something about the claws.

"When are you going to reveal yourself to the King?" Sophie asked, looking across the fire at Freya. "He needs to know. I think Wulfric and the rest underestimate him. He's a good man."

"I don't know," Freya said shortly.

"All the stuff they think about him not listening to you because you're a servant is nonsense," Rose agreed. "He listened to Guinevere, and to Merlin. They're who made him the man he is."

"He knighted us although we were commoners," Mordred rumbled. His voice was deep and smooth in bear shape, like boulders grinding together. "He is not as prejudiced as people think. If you have ability, he will give you a chance."

"I'll tell him when it's time. There's more to it than me being a druid, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Sophie asked.

There was a snort from the other side of a tree. "Haven't you looked at her?" said the Doctor. "It's in her face and her movement."

"And on my bracelet that no one ever looks at closely," Freya agreed. She turned her head a little. "I didn't know you knew."

"I was curious when I saw you. That fair hair and blank face. And then when we came here I saw the bracelet."

"What about it?" said Sophie. She was nearly hopping with impatience.

"I'm -" Freya began.

"She's a Pendragon. Oh, sorry," said the Doctor.

"Really?" said Jenny. Sophie was staring at her with her mouth slightly open.

"Yes. I'm Arthur's niece. Through a lot of intervening generations. But I'm Morgana's daughter. That's why he tried to kill me."

"He what?" said the Doctor, sounding shocked. Mordred looked up sharply.

"You never told me."

"I never told anyone," Freya muttered. The tip of her tail began to twitch uneasily. "It didn't work, anyway. I just came back again. In the Crystal Cave. That where I got my crystal."

"You carved it?" Andrei asked. "It's a beautiful piece of work."

"Not mine. It was - someone else. The person who actually made me take the poison. I still think it was at least partially Arthur's fear of me because of who I am that made him do it. But then he buried me with that. It might be an apology."

Jenny put a paw on Freya's tail. "You smell sad," she observed.

"Stop it!"

She was surprised. "Sorry. I can't switch off my nose any more than you can."

"So if you're Arthur's niece, that means if he dies in this battle, you'll get the throne after the Queen," said Sophie. "And if she dies too, then - maybe that's how it's supposed to happen! They both die in battle and you become Queen and lift the ban on magic. Queen Freya. You could do it. You'd be good at it."

"There's still Emrys," Rose said. "He protects Arthur. Freya'll have to fight him first."

Freya was silent.

"I'm sure she can beat him," Avelina said confidently. "Especially since she is taking some of his power away from him just by existing."

"How does that work, anyway?" asked the Doctor.

"She has a stronger connection to the land than he does. The land is held together by whatever the force is we can all control. The one everyone calls magic. So she can use the land as an extra source of power, but he can't. Not anymore."

"No matter how powerful he is, he won't be able to destroy the land itself," said Andrei. "There's no question who will be the winner."

"No," said Freya. They all looked at her. "There is no doubt about the winner. There will be no winner, because there will be no fight."

"There must be!" said Avelina.

"No. I won't fight him just because everyone says I have to. You don't know him. He's not like that. Tell them, Mordred. He's not bad."

"Do you know Emrys, then?" Rose asked.

"Yes! So do you! So does everyone in Camelot, I should think. He's helped most of them. He's kind and gentle and he cares about people. He's not a killer!"

"Well -" said Mordred.

"Except when he's trying to protect his friends," Freya amended quickly. She glared around at them, her ears flat against her head. "If any of you try to hurt him because you think it'll save trouble, I'll stop you," she hissed. "I'll do whatever it takes. The first time I ever killed someone, it was defending him. Maybe the last time will be the same."

0000

In her house in the quiet village, Hunith sat and knitted. It was so still now that her foster son and daughter had gone.

She'd taken a liking to Mordred when she had first seen him, bleeding, remorseful, and confused, in Gaius's cottage. She'd offered to let him stay with her for a while, and that time had stretched out until hardly anyone remembered that he was not her son. She cared for him deeply. His struggle to understand and accept himself reminded her vividly of her own son.

And Freya. She was so different from either of Hunith's boys, and not just because she was female. She was all brain and no heart. At least, that was everyone's opinion of her. She certainly wasn't as emotional or as openly empathetic as Mordred or Merlin, or outwardly as sensitive to other people's opinions of her. But Hunith had liked her too, on sight. There was a heart there somewhere, that felt things perhaps much more intensely than anyone else could ever know because of how deeply it was buried. She could see it in the random things the girl said sometimes, or the unexpectedly thoughtful things she did.

And then there was the way Freya treated her dragons. She cared for Thalassa like the newborn dragon was her child, and she was far more open about her feelings and ideas to Aithusa than she was to any human. Hunith suspected than even Blaze knew more about Freya's heart than her human friends. She was at home with animals, treating them as equals. That had to mean the girl was much more sensitive than anyone ever saw. No one who was truly callous and self-centered could ever get an animal to trust them, much less become their friend.

Hunith thought of her children, both gone to fight for a man that had betrayed them, and sighed. Freya had said she would rather kill herself than her enemy. Mordred was terrified of Arthur's discovering that he was alive. But both of them had gone to help him. They both had such courage.

She looked at the book on the table. Freya reminded her a little of the Wintersmith. She was technically human, but had no idea how to be a human. She was a little better off then he was, it was true. She had strength, and she had time. Indeed, she could be endlessly patient if she was interested. But Hunith worried about the last part of the rhyme. Love was alien to Freya. Even when it was shown to her, she was wary and uncertain, shrinking away from it, confused about how to respond. She really was like an elemental, a wild force trapped in a body and world that it did not understand and could not be at peace in.

"I suppose that even the Wintersmith had the Summer Lady," Hunith said out loud to You, who was dozing on the table. He opened an eye. "Someone who understood him and was some sort of companion. Only in Freya's case it will have to be a Summer Lord, I expect. I wonder if Mordred . . . she always seems more comfortable around him than around anyone else with less than four legs. Yes. They would be a good match."

You yawned skeptically.

"Of course, if Merlin . . ." Hunith let the thought trail off as the cat stared at her. If only Merlin had survived. He and Freya would have perfect. Her cynicism could have balanced out his unthinking trust in everyone. His warmth would have shown her how to understand her own heart. She could have opened her mind to him without fear. Yes, they would have been perfect.

0000

Rose was nudging her gently. "Time to get going," she growled softly into Freya's ear. "The moon is almost down."

Freya yawned and uncurled. She always liked sleeping in cat shape. There was something comforting about how all her legs and her tail could coil up into a perfect circle. Nothing was left out, vulnerable to cold or attack. She sniffed the breeze. It was cold. She'd had her nose tucked into her tail. And she could smell rain and a suspicious heaviness in the air.

"There's a storm coming," she said.

"Yes," said Mordred. And that was all the conversation there was until they came within sight of the main camp, where the King and Queen and the triumvirate were. Freya and Mordred Changed back and put on their disguises. Everyone else kept their wolf shape. They'd already agreed to be part of her Boffo.

Freya rose out of the darkness, frightening the sentry, who stifled a yelp and then waved her through when he saw her bracelet. She strode past him towards the dark tent where she knew the war council was already in session. She'd smelled them, their nervousness and impatience. Mordred was one step behind her, and the wolves trailed after them, teeth gleaming and muscles rippling in the dim firelight.

She opened the tent flap and ducked inside. Wulfric looked up and nodded. "There is a thunderstorm coming. A big one. The King has decided that we should attack with it."

"It will be a big one. With any luck, it should do some damage to the castle. It will be a good distraction for us," said Arthur. He looked tired and nervous. "And of course, if you could add something to it -"

"I will consider the idea," Freya said through Mordred. "How do you plan to take the inner castle? The lower town is easy enough."

"I think the best plan is the simplest. A straightforward attack on the main gate once we hold the lower town. A secondary force to enter by tunnels and take the defenders from behind. Wulfric assured me that the locks will be no problem to your people."

Freya considered the plan and could see no obvious objections to it. It was an old plan, but it had worked dozens of times in the past. They already had rams made from tree trunks, ready to break down the gates. And she was sure she could do something to open them if they held. Arthur knew a lot more about battles and sieges than she did. "It's a good plan," she informed him. "When will the attack begin?"

"When the storm breaks. We'll keep the same basic plan we had before, where we attacked at dawn, with that one change. The main army will keep cover in the forest in front of the gate of the lower town. The ambush will hide in the ruined walls and trees near the entrances to the tunnels. All of them, even the back doors in the forest. A knight who knows the maze will be with each group. At the first thunderclap that is accompanied by rain, the main army will break cover and rush the gate. The ambush parties will enter the tunnels and try to take the castle and help us in any way possible."

"It sounds good," she repeated. "May I suggest something?"

"Of course."

"I want Andrei and Avelina and Jenny to each head one of the ambushes. They have special skills that may be very useful, especially in the darkness and narrowness of tunnels. I need the others with me."

"That is a good suggestion, sire," said Wulfric.

"All right then," said Arthur. He looked a little sheepishly at Freya. "And where will you be?"

She looked back at him. "Where I must be. At your side."

"And your dragons?"

"They go where they wish. I cannot force them to fight, but I know they will. They will help us."


	20. Chapter 20

**For those of you who are following/checking this story, sorry about the sudden absence of updates. I had a rather nasty cold and couldn't face fighting with the document manager. I'm back now!**

Waiting was a long, cold, boring business. Freya sat with her back to a tree between the King and Mordred and listened to the storm coming closer. Most of the women from Camelot were far behind them, getting ready to tend the wounded. Most of the druid women were at the front, indistinguishable from the men. Magic leveled the field. It was true that most women were not as physically strong as a man, but any woman could knock someone unconscious or snap their neck or even incinerate them if she had magic. It was very liberating.

She wondered what the King would do if he realized that he was alone in a little hollow with his wife's former maid and a knight who had betrayed him. Boffo really was scary and wonderful. He trusted them blindly just because he could not see their faces. When - if - she was on friendly terms with him, she'd warn him very strongly against ever falling for that again.

There was a melody running through her head. She frowned, trying to identify it.

Arthur stirred. "Leon?" he whispered. A head rose up over the lip of the hollow. "Is everyone in position?"

"Yes, sire. Everything is ready for the attack."

Leon vanished. Freya smiled in the dark. Arthur was uncharacteristically nervous. It was probably something to do with -

Oh. That was the song. And where the road now takes me I cannot tell, she thought. I just wish I could go home. But the path there is long and dark.

0000

There was movement. Leon looked around suspiciously. Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around, sword ready, and saw Gwaine. He relaxed.

"Don't do that, you idiot!" he snapped. Gwaine was dressed like a druid in one of their voluminous cloaks. Two more people were barely visible behind him. "What do you want?" he added a little more softly. "Is there a problem?"

"No, there's no problem," said Gwaine. "We just wanted to let you know that we're ready to help you."

"What?" said Leon. Percival was looking past him at the other two men. "Elyan?" he said doubtfully.

Elyan and Lancelot came closer. "So, we're all alive again," Gwaine muttered as they huddled together in the cover of a fallen log. "All of us who were originally knighted by Arthur."

"And Mordred," said Lancelot.

"Where is he?" Percival asked, looking around suspiciously.

"He's not the same, Percival," Gwaine said quickly. "He's ashamed of what he did, and sorry for it. He'll be protecting Arthur too."

"We wanted to fight with you as we did before," Elyan said. "We think we'll need to work as a team again to survive this."

Leon held out a hand. "Speaking for myself, I would be glad of your help."

"We are brothers," Percival said simply. "We belong together."

They all clasped hands.

0000

"To these memories I will hold," Freya murmured to herself. She felt the King stir beside her.

"Sorry?" he said.

"Nothing," she whispered. "It's just a song." Oh no, she thought. I hope this isn't the day to say farewell. She bit her lip hard. Think of something else. Try to get this damn song out of your head. It's not helping.

"You've never spoken before," said Arthur. His voice was higher pitched than usual. He sounded like a boy. "I wondered if you could. No offense meant," he added quickly.

"You've been around sorcerers most of your life. Why do you fear us?" she said, trying to keep her voice low and quiet.

"I was always told you were always evil. From as fat back as I can remember, my father hated you. I - I have seen that you are not all alike."

"No. We are not. And even those who may seem like evil ones can be good people when given a fair hearing."

"Yes." Arthur moved uneasily. "I know. I regret - things. Things I could have stopped. My sister. One of my best knights. My - I suppose she was my last living relative. My niece." He was silent for a few minutes. Neither Freya nor Mordred could think of anything to say.

"I did them so much wrong," he said at last. "I should have tried to understand them better, explain my decisions to them. And Cottia . . ."

"What about her?" she said gruffly.

"I should have told him not to - I mean, there should have been another way. She wasn't like Morgana at all. She was a good person, underneath. Scared and prickly, but with a good heart. She didn't deserve to die."

"Did you order her death?"

"I could have stopped it, but I didn't. I didn't know enough about magic to trust my own judgement. I need to fix that."

"The blame lies between you, then," she said coldly.

"I didn't want her to die!" Arthur burst out. "Apart from her being just a scared kid, she was my niece. I liked her. I felt sort of - responsible for her. And look what it's done to Merlin. He didn't talk for two weeks afterwards and now he's gone off his head. I'd rather have sacrificed myself, my kingdom, than let this happen."

"Would you? If you could go back and change it, if you were back in the sleeping castle feeling yourself succumb, seeing your friends falter, not knowing how to stop it, would you really spare the life of an obvious culprit?" Her voice had an edge to it that could have cut rock.

"Yes. It was wrong. I knew it was wrong. The same with Mordred. I stand by my decision about the girl, but I should have explained it to him. I should have listened to him."

"How will you judge Merlin when he is brought before you?"

"What?"

"He is a traitor. He has lied to you for years. He is a sorcerer. What will you do, King Arthur? Your future rests on that decision."

Arthur was silent.

"Mordred was wrong too," whispered Mordred. "He was too young to see the lies. He would he sorry, if he was alive."

"I suppose he would still hate me," Arthur said dully. "I loved him like a son."

"I don't think he would have," said Mordred. "The druid boy never forgot his rescuers."

"What druid boy?"

"The one you took back to his people."

"That was - ?"

"Yes. He never forgot."

"I never realized," Arthur muttered. "All that time. I'm an idiot."

There was silence. In the distance, the first thunderclap echoed around the sky. It was followed by a gust of wind carried the smell of rain and electricity before it. Freya felt her heartbeat speed up and the familiar sense of panic begin to rise.

Stop it, she told herself firmly. You know the noises don't hurt you. It's only weather.

There was a lightning flash. She gripped her hands together. Think of something else. Maybe there's a way you can channel the storm when it gets here. You're pretty powerful now, and the land supports you. Tiffany isn't afraid of thunder and lightning. Heh. She used them against the Queen. Maybe you could do that too. Wouldn't that be impressive?

She touched the silver horse. It had become a reflex when she was frightened or anxious. Why am I so scared of lightning? she wondered, and knew the answer. Because it could start fires. Fires were possibly her biggest fear. They were unpredictable, uncontrollable, and painful when they were too close. She had often stared, unable to look away, at the tongues of flame that wavered up from a campfire.

Hmmm. Fire. I can't use any of the hundreds of fire spells I know once the battle starts. It's already going to be confusing and scary. If I set fire to things, I don't know if I'll be able to keep a clear head. I wouldn't mind cold lightning, though. I wonder if that exists. Sometimes heat is so hot that it feels cold. I wonder.

0000

Avelina looked up and sniffed the air. She rose cautiously, motioning for her followers to stay down. "It is coming," she hissed. "Get ready."

All along the narrow ravine that led to an entrance into the siege tunnels of Camelot, there were tiny clinks and flashes as swords and daggers were drawn. There was a deafening roll of thunder, and in the silence that followed, the faint patter of rain.

"Here it comes," said Avelina, beckoning. Her followers stood up, still blending into the predawn shadows. The rain swept towards them like a solid wall. When it hit, it was heavy and cold. She repressed an urge to shake herself dry and wiped the water from her eyes. There was another burst of thunder.

"Come on!" she called, and led the soldiers through the now open gate. In less than a minute, they had all vanished into the tunnels.

Across the forest in similar entrances, small groups of knights and druids had done the same.

0000

Arthur led the charge, running ahead of the knights with the tree trunks. All the horses had been left behind in the forest; they'd only get in the way. Arthur stood aside as they reached the gate. Freya and Mordred were right behind him, and all five of the other Knights followed them closely.

Gwaine punched Percival happily on the arm as they waited for the gates to be broken down. "Just like old times, eh?"

Percival grinned and shook his head to keep the drenching rain from his eyes. It was coming down in solid sheets. "Old times!" he agreed.

The gates were holding. Arthur looked to Freya. She returned his gaze from the depths of her hood.

"I don't want to give them this much warning," he said. "The storm will mask some of the sounds, and disorient the guards, but the warning bell will go off any second. Can you get the gates open?"

She shrugged, and motioned pointedly to the soldiers crowding in front of the gates. Arthur pushed his way into the throng.

"Back! Get back! The druid will open it!" she heard him commanding. The knights backed away quickly. She felt the pressure of a thousand eyes on her as she stood before the gates.

She stared helplessly at them. She knew several spells for picking locks. Those were some of the few she had actually bothered to learn from Merlin. They didn't seem applicable right now. She needed an explosion, not a quiet click and a slight movement of a hinge.

Would he be waiting on the other side, ready to fight? She knew he was somewhere within the walls. She could feel his presence. Could he feel hers? Did he know who she was? If she took off the hood and mask, would he stop? Or would he hate her for what she had become?

"Shut up!" she muttered to herself. "Go away. I don't need you." Those must be Second Thoughts, she thought with a nervous laugh. Funny, I never realized that before. I have both, like -

Would that work? Magic was just focusing the mind, when you cut through the smoke and dribbly candles and strange symbols and got to its core. And she was very good at concentrating.

Freya shoved her staff through a loop designed for that purpose on her belt and held out a hand. "Lightning in my left hand," she whispered, and thought of Tiffany, fighting the Elf Queen in the rain on the downs. There was a crackle and a shower of lights overhead. Forks of light hit the horizon, splitting into fragments, lighting up the sky like a new sun.

Freya held out her other hand. "And thunder in my right," she said, a little louder. This time she thought of the ice palace melting, the steam and the pouring water rushing past as the heat of the summer struck the chill of winter. When this is over, I really should try to meet her again. I need to thank her, she thought. I couldn't have done this without the example of Tiffany Aching.

Freya felt the movements of the storm, and guided it until the clouds boiling above her were a thick black mass, vibrating with captured power. Then she let go.

A surprisingly delicate flash of lightning arced down and struck the gates, highlighting every nail and strip of metal on them in blue light. Then there was a crack of thunder so loud it was tangible, enough to stop a heart for a fraction of a second. and the gates gently crumbled into ash.

She turned around. Mordred was still standing just behind her, unmovable and apparently fearless. Arthur was just looking up from shielding his eyes with his hands. Everyone else was on their knees, hiding their faces from the light.

Arthur looked at her. "That was incredible," he said.

"Thank you," she said.

He drew his sword. Around him, his Knights of the Round Table were getting to their feet.

"For the love of Camelot!" he shouted, and the cry was taken up by knight and druid alike as they entered the lower town at a run in the darkness just before the dawn.


	21. Chapter 21

Avelina's guide led them quickly and cautiously to the cellars beneath the castle keep. "Now we are beneath the armory," he said quietly. "We can either go up into the castle proper or out into the open spaces behind the inner walls. Which way?"

"Into the castle," she said firmly.

The young knight nodded, and they continued on in the gloom. There was a thunderclap loud enough to be heard even underground. It shook dust from the walls and tiny fragments of rock came down from the ceiling.

"The lower town is taken," Avelina murmured. "I feel the power." Around her, all the druids were nodding in agreement.

"Freya is powerful," said one man in awe. "She holds the storm itself in her grip."

"Shhh," the knight said, a little nervously. "We may be heard from now on."

0000

There was no resistance in the lower town. Instead, the residents poured out to meet them with glad cries. Most were wielding homemade weapons. Arthur swiftly directed those who wanted to fight the invaders to form a group behind the knights. They all bore down on the gates into the castle keep together.

The townsfolk had already told Arthur that there were only a few soldiers from the Other Side ever in the lower town. They were the gate guards, and none of them had survived the charge after the gates burned. The rain was easing a little as the mixed army piled up in the wide street before the gate into the courtyard of the castle proper. Everyone knew that this would be the hardest gate to break.

The knights tried a few swings with the tree trunks, the the gate didn't even shudder. Freya stepped forward to Arthur's side.

"Let me," she said through Mordred. "It will be easier." He nodded and ordered the men away. She moved a pace forward, and then something, some half-remembered fragment of a nightmare, made her turn back to the King.

"Tell the men to form a defensive line out of fire of the walls and the open gate. Tell them not to rush it. I will go first, and any with magic may follow me. Magic is our only defense against the weapons from the Other Side. The knights will be shot down in seconds unless we protect them. Do it!" she ordered, and was happy that Mordred had such a commanding voice when he needed it.

The knights hurried into their positions as she stood before the gate. High above them, the sun began to rise, and at the same time, the bells began to ring. They had been noticed. Well, that would have happened soon anyway. At least now her people weren't sitting targets for the soldiers and their guns.

She saw, out of the corner of her eye, the dark shapes of the druids flowing from shadow to shadow, clustering near the gate. She closed her eyes.

Form a shield, she commanded telepathically. Raise a barrier of energy above us to keep the projectiles off. Don't worry about me. I won't be affected. When the gate opens, extend it to cover the army in front, too. I will protect the King.

She felt the snap as four hundred minds bent to the task of protecting everyone from aerial attack, and relaxed a little. One less thing for her to do.

Mordred was still at his post behind her. She handed him her staff. "You use this now. Give me your sword."

"Why?" he asked, obediently taking the staff and handing his sword to her. She looked at it thoughtfully, noting the place where the notch on the blade had been repaired by Elyan, using Thalassa as the heat of the forge.

"This sword is dragonmade. I need it. You use the staff to shield the King and I. I need a different weapon."

He nodded.

"Stay behind us. Fight with your brothers." She nodded to Gwaine, who was watching her.

"Join us," he called. "It's where you belong, isn't it?"

Mordred gently touched Freya's cheek and walked back to join the others. She stood alone before the gate now, except for the King, who was slightly behind and to one side of her. She turned to him.

"Stay with me when it opens. We'll be cut off for a few minutes. Concentrate on surviving. Let me clear the path," she said curtly. He raised an eyebrow.

"And how do you know?"

"Don't be such an ass!" she snapped. "I know things, all right? It's what I'm for!"

He nodded. "Then open the gate. Let's get this over with."

She turned to face the gate, and let the fear and the anger and the loss that she had kept locked away for so long rise up a little inside her. And she felt the land respond, lending some of its own hurt and fury to her, and it filled her bones with cold power.

Once again, she touched the little silver horse with her free hand. "This is my land. My kingdom. And I am ice." She reached up to the sky and dragged the cold of the winter down from the clouds in a spike of blue frozen light. It hit the gate and stopped abruptly.

Arthur spoke behind her. "I hate to object, but it's still standing."

She reached behind her and took his hand, smiling thinly.

"Ow! Your fingers are freezing!" he yelped, trying to pull away.

"Yes." She led him up to the gate, until they stood within arm's reach of it. "Touch it."

He glanced at her sideways. Then he drew a deep breath and touched the wood gently with the tip of his sword. There was a hiss and a cloud of steam, and the gate melted into a puddle of rust and water. They stood in the opening, staring into the darkness beyond it.

"I see what you meant," Arthur muttered. He raised his sword, ready to fight. Freya did the same. In her other hand, a sphere of cold blue light glowed menacingly.

The light of the sun grew a little stronger, making the hundreds of green shapes crammed into the courtyard seem less like a homogenous mass and more like an army of individual men, all heavily armed and moving slowly forward.

"For the love of Camelot!" shouted Arthur as the soldiers closed in around them, and together he and Freya began the slow, deadly process of cutting their way towards the castle.

—

 **A cliffhanger, again! This is the end of this book. The sequel is called The Last Enemy and I will start posting it tomorrow. It's a crossover, but not much more than this one was.** **And it will finally return to Merlin's part in the story.**


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